


When All Is Darkest

by andachippedcup



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:19:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andachippedcup/pseuds/andachippedcup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After her best friend is chosen to face certain death in the arena, Belle French volunteers to represent District Seven in the Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games. She will compete against twenty three other teenagers including the boy from her district, Jefferson Hatter, in a fight to the death to be the sole victor of the Capitol’s games. Helping them is Gold, the drunken mentor and Ruby, a newcomer stylist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tribute

“Are you scared?” She asked quietly as she stared up at the tree branches that arched overhead, dancing softly at the wind’s command.

“Terrified.” An answering voice whispered from beside her and Belle glanced to her right to find David staring up at the treetops, an expression of utter misery on his face. “Not for me, as much…but for her? I’m terrified.” He acknowledged sadly before he turned to look at Belle.

Belle only nodded and returned to looking up at the treetops before she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to imagine taking a breath that wasn’t heavy with the scent of pine. She couldn’t imagine it; the smell of pine needles was, in her mind, synonymous with breathing. District Seven was responsible for supplying all of Storybrooke with lumber and so trees were a way of life here.

“I’m scared for her too. For all of us.” Belle acknowledged suddenly, her eyes still closed.

Eighteen years. Eighteen years, Belle French had lived and worked in District Seven. Belle had grown up with pine trees everywhere the eye could see, with her father working as a lumberjack until he was injured and thereafter as a carpenter. Her mother had been a lead climber; she could scale trees faster than anyone Belle had ever seen, thinning out the branches on her way to the top.

Then, Belle’s mother had fallen. She could still remember that day her mother died. The way her father’s face turned ashen and he crumpled in on himself. He’d never been the same after that. Neither had she.

Most everyone in District Seven had lost someone though; lumber was hardly a safe field. You were either a climber at risk of falling, or a cutter at risk of being fallen  _on_ , or you were a factory worker at risk of being maimed or killed by the machinery.

David had lost his father and his brother in separate accidents and had been supporting his mother since he was twelve. Belle had been ten when her mother died. And then there was Belle’s best friend, Mary Margaret.

Mary Margaret’s mother had died in childbirth, her father of a heart attack when she was thirteen. She would have starved to death if Belle and her father hadn’t taken her in. And so, they had all lost someone they cared about. And their lives had become increasingly difficult as a result of those hardships. That was why she and David were out here now, in the woods. It took two incomes to make ends meet in the district and between her family and David’s, they only had two full time workers trying to feed five mouths.

If they were ever caught sneaking past the perimeter, they would be killed. They both knew that. But the pair of eighteen year olds had long ago accepted those risks in an effort to provide for their families. They had taught themselves to hunt with bows and arrows they’d made themselves. They built traps and harvested all the berries and nuts that they could.

And so, they survived.

“This is the last time though, for us.” David reminded her with a reassuring, sad smile.

“For us.” She repeated sadly. “Mary Margaret still has another year.” She sighed as she sat up and stared out at the forest beyond District Seven. She took in the sounds of the forest; the way the wind rustled through the leaves, the sounds of the birds calling to each other.

“We could leave. Run away into the woods somewhere. We could.” His voice had turned hard, dark. Serious.

“My father would never be able to make it over the fence with his injuries. And even if he could, we would never be able to take care of them all. My father, your mother. Mary Margaret. It would be too much.” Belle reminded him quietly, a voice of reason in the sea of his anger and fear.

David hung his head, defeated.

“You’re right.” He sighed, staring at his hands for some moments. “Come on. We have to get a move on if we want to get any hunting in. Before…” His voice trailed off darkly and Belle nodded and stood to dust herself off. She grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows from off the ground and set off in the lead.

They walked for a while. All the commotion in the district had sent many of the small animals into hiding because when they called it a day just before noon, they only had a pair of grouse and a squirrel for their efforts.

They climbed the tree at the perimeter fence with the overhanging branch; they always used that tree, thanks to the way it formed a bridge over to the other side. A tree inside of the district acted as the other half of the bridge, one of its arms jutting out by the other tree’s branch. It was dangerous, to be sure, but years of experience had taught them well and they made it across and back into the district with ease, the fruits of their labor stowed safely inside their bags.

After all, a Peacekeeper didn’t need to catch them outside the fence to have them killed. Waltzing around with a bunch of game and wild plants would be the same as being caught with a bow beyond the perimeter. And justice in the districts was measured out swiftly and severely. No need to incur that kind of wrath, least of all today.

They split off at a fork in the road, David going to the left and Belle to the right with a promise of meeting up after the Reaping. Hopefully, they would be able to celebrate being spared another year.

Hopefully.

Belle had always found it difficult to plan ahead. What was the point in making plans very far into the future when, at least once a year, there was a very good chance you could be chosen and brought to an arena where near-certain death awaited? After this year, she would be safe, yes. But Mary Margaret?  She would have another year to endure and only then, when Mary Margaret and David were both safe, did Belle think she  _might_ be able to plan.

Still, it was tempting to think about. After this year, she and David would both finish off school and be able to work to help support the families more than just a few odd jobs ever had. David planned to become a tree cutter; it was dangerous work but the pay was good. It would afford him the opportunity to be outside all day, amongst the trees. And Belle? Belle planned to do whatever she could. Most likely she’d work in the furniture factory, polishing chairs or tables for sale in the Capitol, or if she was lucky, she’d end up a lead climber like her mother and be able to climb trees all day. Her father would hate it but at least she would make decent pay.

She entered the house, humming a song her mother had taught her as she spread the day’s haul out on the kitchen table. Normally, Mary Margaret would have been the one to start preparing the meal but she wasn’t home; as usual, she was helping other families in the area get their children ready for the Reaping. She did it every year; when Belle had asked her why, Mary Margaret had only said that it took her mind off of the horribleness of it all, to help the children and distract them, even if only for a moment.

So instead, Belle prepared the bird and greens herself and set them on the stove to stew until after the Reaping. On a normal day, she would have set the table too but they never did that on Reaping day. Just in case a table set for three became a table meant for two.

Once finished, Belle heated some water for a bath and slid her tired, dirty body into the tub with a relieved sigh as her tense muscles relaxed. She only gave herself a minute to enjoy the warm water before she began to scrub at her dirt encrusted nails and her sweat soaked hair. When at last she was rubbed raw and pink, she toweled off and emptied the tub before she went to her room to put on her dress.

Her father had given it to her shortly after her mother’s death. It had been much too large for her then but now it nearly fit her. It was a lovely shade of blue that reminded Belle of the sky as it was reflected on the surface of the lake out in the forest beyond the district. The lace was white and fine, speaking of her mother’s high status prior to marrying Belle’s father. They had, Belle knew, been very much in love and so, Belle’s mother had given up a life of relative affluence within the district to marry beneath her.

Even to a skeptic like Belle, it was a beautiful love story.

She smoothed the dress as she stared in the mirror and frowned at her knotted hair. It took a while to brush out, which was why she usually kept it pinned back in some form or fashion. Once it had been combed through though, she tamed her messy brown locks into a half bun and allowed the rest of it to tumble freely down her back. All in all, she decided it didn’t look too terrible. Certainly good enough for the Reaping.

She felt a familiar knot of unease grow in her stomach as she thought of it. The idea that a slip of paper bearing her name, or Mary Margaret’s, or David’s, could bring so much heartache was rather unsettling, to say the least.

She was disrupted from her thoughts by the sound of someone coming in the front door. She walked out to find her father, looking disheveled as he set down a small sack on the table. He looked up to see her and his eyes grew round and teary at the sight of her.

“You look lovely, my Belle.” He said at last, his voice strained. “Just like your mother.”

Belle smiled weakly and walked over to embrace him, pressing a kiss to his forehead reassuringly.

“Don’t worry Papa, it’ll all be over soon. Then we’ll have a lovely dinner. It’s already on the stove.” She stated but even to her ears the words were honeyed and fake. On Reaping Day, there could be no such guarantees. They both knew that.

He nodded and patted her hand gently before he picked up the bag he’d brought in and handed it to her with trembling hands.

“For you and Mary Margaret. A little treat.” He explained and Belle stared at the bag in surprise before she opened it curiously and produced two sweet rolls, still warm and fresh. They must have cost a fortune; even by the smell and texture of them, Belle could tell they were made with the fine, rich flour of the upper class. The sort that they could _never_ afford.

“Oh Papa.” She breathed and looked to him in surprise. “You didn’t have to-”

“I did.” He interjected suddenly, with a faux chipper little grin. “You girls deserve all that and much, much more.” He sighed, his eyes drifting to the old, worn clock on the mantle over the fireplace. “You…you best run along my girl. It’s almost time.”

Belle stepped forward and pulled her father into a tight hug, biting back tears as she pulled away and gave him an uncertain smile before she slipped on her best pair of shoes and, certain to take the bag with her, disappeared out the door.

——-

She found Mary Margaret on the path to the City Square, where the Reaping was held every year. The younger girl was helping a very stressed looking mother herd a pair of twin twelve year old boys and a queasy looking fourteen year old girl toward the square. Belle tapped Mary Margaret’s shoulder in greeting, then went to the pair of bickering boys and quieted them by offering them each a third of her sweet roll, giving the remaining third to their sister.

“There’s one for you too.” She commented as she handed the bag to her best friend. Mary Margaret opened it in surprise and beamed, breaking the remaining treat in half as she offered the other half to Belle. Belle accepted it gratefully and the two marched along in silence until they reached the square. Mary Margaret grabbed Belle’s hand suddenly and stopped, prompting Belle to spin around.

“Mary Margaret…?” She asked and the seventeen year old shook her head.

“I just…I have a terrible feeling about this.” She whispered urgently and Belle nodded in understanding.

“I know.” She responded, giving her friend’s hand a squeeze. “But the sooner we go, the sooner we get it over with.” Mary Margaret nodded and the two embraced tightly before they split up. Children were ordered by gender first and age second for the Reaping, so the two girls were never together, a fact which was rather unfortunate, given that the support could have been most comforting during such a dark hour. Still, the whole ceremony lasted only a few minutes normally and after that, hopefully they would be able to breathe freely for another year.

The Storybrooke anthem blared over the speakers suddenly and Belle could see the little shiver that it prompted in most every waiting child in the square below. On the stage, Mal Eficent appeared, the Capitol appointed escort who showed up every year to read the names of the ‘lucky boy and girl’ that went on to fight in the games.

Most of the children just referred to her as the dragon lady and really, it was no small wonder why.

Mal dressed in a wild fashion that Belle had come to associate with the Capitol. Her curly blonde hair was often dyed a heinous shade of pale purple and was usually pulled into a ridiculous style so that her beloved silver dragon headband could be seen prominently atop her head. She wore what Belle could only imagine to be fake nails that seemed more like claws and she had a preference for wearing purple and black and some years, accessorized with a gaudy walking staff.

She was, to be perfectly blunt, a freak by District Seven standards and Belle didn’t know of a single soul that thought the woman was tolerable. They all enjoyed mocking her affected Capitol accent and her trademark leer, the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year.

It was this woman that stepped forward after the traditional video had played, explaining the need for the annual Hunger Games. The tape always ended with a voice over from President Cora insinuating that the games were what protected them all from anarchy. Actually, President Cora’s words were something about the games protecting the future but they all knew better.

The games were about maintaining the subservience of the districts. 

“I just  _love_ that!” Mal beamed at the crowd, which only stared back dully at her, waiting for her to read the names and be done with it. “Well, I know you’re all  _terribly_ anxious to find out who will have the  _honor_  of representing District Seven in this year’s Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games, so let’s not delay. Shall we?” She grinned and Belle felt her heart’s tempo increase as Mal walked across the stage to the glass container that held the names of every girl aged twelve to eighteen in District Seven.

Just over two dozen of those slips bore her name. At the age of twelve, each child was eligible to enroll for food assistance. The cost was one additional slip in the Reaping, per food assistance coupon. Since Belle’s home housed her and her father for three years of her eligibility, she’d taken out two coupons a year during that time. When Mary Margaret had joined them, she’d taken out three coupons a year, all in addition to the regular number of entries per year.

Mary Margaret’s name, however, was only in the drawing six times, one for every year of her eligibility; Belle had refused to let the younger girl take any food coupons.

Mal reached her clawed hands into the container and fished around for some moments. She even feigned picking up a slip, only to continue rifling, probably for the point of building suspense. The only effect it had on Belle was to give her a strong desire to punch Mal in the face.

Then, at long last, Mal plucked a piece of paper from the bowl and smoothed it open so she could read the name on the paper.

 _Not me_.  _Please, not me_. Belle mentally pleaded.

“Mary Margaret Blanchard!”

Belle felt her heart stop as she whipped her head to the left, where the seventeen year olds were lined up. She saw a shocked looking Mary Margaret look up at the podium and then down at the ground as she slowly stepped forward and, shell-shocked, walked to the main aisle, where four Peacekeepers were approaching to escort her to the stage.

“No.” Belle whispered hoarsely and she looked to the right at the boys and saw David, who looked as though he was about to pass out, his face pale and his expression one of mortification.

“No.” She whispered again, turning back to where Mary Margaret was now slowly making her way up the aisle. And suddenly, Belle was in motion, that one word pounding in her head, over and over again.  _No._  Not Mary Margaret. Not the girl too sweet to kill a bird that had gotten trapped in the school room. Not the girl that was loathe to even kill a squirrel when she accompanied David and Belle on their hunting trips. Not the girl who had already lost so much.

She shoved past the girls in her line and once at the main aisle, she shrugged off the Peacekeepers that tried to stop her and raced toward Mary Margaret. Belle pushed one of the Peacekeepers aside as she threw herself in front of the younger girl, her arms splayed protectively to the sides to keep everyone away.

They could not,  _would not_ have her.

“I volunteer!” She screamed, struggling against the pairs of hands that reached at her and threatened to take her away from her friend, back into her place in line. And when they did not stay themselves, she fought back, fiercely swatting away one peacekeeper as she screamed again, louder and more desperately this time. “I volunteer as tribute!”

Everything went suddenly still and the Peacekeepers fell motionless as they looked up at the stage for some sort of direction, unsure what to do.

No one, in the history of District Seven, had ever volunteered. It happened all the time in the rich districts, where participation in the games was seen as the highest of honors, a glorified, noble thing. But not here, in the poor, tree-rich district that Belle called home. No one knew what the protocol was.

She felt a familiar, soft hand wrap around hers and she glanced behind her to see Mary Margaret had tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes wide.

“Belle, no.” she whispered, her tone one of utter horror and guilt, “What did you  _do_?!”

Belle was distantly aware of commotion from the stage; it seemed that Mal Eficent was conferring with the Mayor to figure out what to do. Belle seized the opportunity to half turn to look at her friend, her gaze serious.

“I’m protecting you.”

“No.” She snapped back adamantly, her eyes blazing. “No, I won’t let you do this.”

“It’s too late.” Belle whispered back. “It’s done.  _Go_.”

It wasn’t until David showed up, nudging aside the Peacekeepers so he could pull Mary Margaret away that the younger girl became desperate.

“David no, you can’t, we can’t let her do this.” She growled as she beat his chest, but David only held her tightly as he dragged her away, his eyes pained as he met Belle’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, Belle. I can’t-” he choked and Belle nodded understandingly.

“I know. Take care of her.” She swallowed and David nodded as he dragged Mary Margaret off, still fighting. It wasn’t until they were gone that Belle remembered that the cameras were still on her, all eyes of the district and Storybrooke watching.

She turned to face the stage and smoothed her dress before she moved forward, escorted by the stunned looking Peacekeepers. As she made it to the top of the stairs, Mal met her and waved her forward, her wild painted nails beckoning her closer.

“Well,  _that_  was exciting. Now, what’s your name?” She asked, putting on a bright smile as she shoved the microphone at Belle, who fumbled with it for a moment.

“B-Belle.” She stammered uncertainly. “Belle French.”

“I see. And I bet that lovely young lady is a friend of yours. Or a family member, perhaps a cousin?” She smiled sweetly and Belle just stared at the woman blankly, her head spinning as she nodded faintly.

“She’s my  _best_  friend.” She confirmed and Mal smiled.

“Ah. Couldn’t tolerate the thought of letting her have all the fun, I imagine.” She laughed but no one else in the audience joined her. All eyes were, instead, on the staggering figure of District Seven’s only surviving victor, the town drunk.

Gold.

He stumbled forward and slung an arm over Belle, his free hand grasping for the microphone which she willingly handed off to him. He reeked of liquor and something else, spice? She couldn’t exactly place it. He was impeccably dressed, as always, in one of his finely tailored suits with a blue shirt and matching little square cloth in his breast pocket.

“I like this one!” He slurred, his voice projected out to the audience over the sound system. “She’s brave. Not like you.” He growled, casting Mal a bleary eyed glare. “Any of you!” He hollered, throwing an accusatory finger out in the direction of the cameras before he fell over backwards, completely passed out on the stage.

Belle gawped at him for a moment before she knelt to make sure he was alright but as she did so, a pair of Peacekeepers hustled out and dragged him off the stage.  

“Well, we best move alone with the festivities.” Mal directed, off put by Gold’s outburst. “On to the gentlemen now! Look alive boys, look alive!” She called out as she went to the container that held the boys names. She reached her hand in and fished around for a moment before she plucked one slip of paper out, unfolding it meticulously before she read out the name in a chirpy voice.

“Jefferson Hatter!” She crowed happily and Belle felt her heart sink. Because of all the boys Belle  _didn’t_ want to face in the arena, Jefferson Hatter was second only to David Nolan.

She watched as the tanner’s son looked around in awe, almost waiting for someone to volunteer for him until he was jostled out of his row by the boys around him so the Peacekeepers could lead him up to the stage where he sat blinking in shock.

Jefferson Hatter was the boy who was responsible for Belle and her loved ones being alive. It was his ability to take the pelts of the animals Belle brought his father and turn them into hats that had prompted the tanner to purchase the pelts to begin with. Were it not for Jefferson’s talent, Belle would have been too broke to feed her loved ones many times over.

And she was going to have to kill him or see him killed in the arena.

“Well there you have it! How about some applause for the tributes from District Seven?!” Mal beamed with a flourish of her hand.

Silence was the only response Mal received.

Belle felt her eyes grow wider at the boldness of the crowd. Applause, when called for, was not a request; it was an expectation and failure to deliver could lead to harsh consequences at the hands of the Peacekeepers or worse, the Capitol and the President they served.

Mal glanced around uneasily and then slowly walked off the stage, waving for Belle and Jefferson to follow her. Belle spared one last look into the crowd and found David’s eyes. He nodded at her and Belle nodded back, the unspoken message received loud and clear.

David would take care of them. Mary Margaret, her Papa. At least she could go into the arena to die knowing that those she loved would be safe. 


	2. Familiarity & The Absence Of

The walk off of the stage seemed to last an eternity. Belle’s legs felt leaden and she was only dimly aware of the Peacekeepers at her back, guiding her through the bowels of the building. It sounded like she was underwater, all the voices and sounds garbled and seemingly coming to her from a great distance.

It wasn’t until the door shut behind her and she realized she was in a small room that her senses seemed to return to her and she truly processed what she had done. It was a death sentence; she knew that much. No one from District Seven had won since Gold, whose drunken endorsement of her hardly gave her hope, If he was her mentor, she was as good as dead on arrival.

The sound of the door opening startled her as her father rushed in, enveloping her into a bone crushing hug.

“My girl, you can’t do this. They’ll kill you!” He pleaded but Belle shook her head in response.

“It’s done Papa. I decided my fate. I couldn’t let them take Mary Margaret.” If Belle died in the arena, her ragtag ‘family’ would miss her, yes but the rest of the district would go on. If Mary Margaret died though? Her influence was much more widely felt, her impact far greater. She still had plenty of good deeds left to do for the District and its children.

“These games Belle, they’re monstrous.” He warned as he held her in his arms. “Don’t…don’t let them turn you into a monster too.” He pleaded and Belle nodded, silent tears winding down her cheeks.

“I won’t Papa.”

“I love you, my darling.” He uttered softly.

“I love you too.” She replied and bit back the tears. She needed to sound strong; for his peace of mind, she  _had to_.

She had not been expecting any other visitors to be permitted but a minute after her father was dragged out the door opened again, this time revealing a teary eyed Mary Margaret and a downcast David. Mary Margaret flung her arms around Belle and cried quietly as Belle patted her back comfortingly

“Belle,  _why_  did you do that?” May Margaret whimpered as she clung tightly to her friend and Belle smoothed the younger girl’s hair.

“David needs you. The district needs you. They don’t need me. Not the same way.” Belle soothed but to this Mary Margaret only shook her head in fierce disagreement.

“ _I_ need you! David needs you! Your Papa needs you!” She challenged as she loosed herself from Belle’s arms and allowed David to step forward to give his friend a tight hug.

“Promise me you’ll take care of them.” Belle whispered urgently and David nodded. “Jefferson will be gone so the tanner will probably stop buying skins. You need to talk to William Smee, he should be able to put you in touch with someone who will buy them.” Belle directed and David nodded and cut her off before she could continue.

“Belle I know all of this. I’ll take care of them. I promise.” He swore and Belle nodded at him tearfully. “Listen to me though; you can hunt. Get a bow somehow, you can be lethal with one.”

Belle shuddered and looked at him with wide eyes.

“I can hunt  _animals_ David!” She gasped and he grabbed her face with one of his hands and held her gaze seriously.

“People are no different.” He directed. “This is all just a hunt. Stay quiet, stay fast. Think like what you’re hunting and stay one step ahead of them. You can win this Belle. You can.” He encouraged and she nodded at him, even if she still didn’t believe him.

Mary Margaret stepped forward suddenly, grabbing both of Belle’s hands in hers as she spoke, her tone of voice infinitely stronger than it had been moments ago.

“Swear to me that you’ll try to win. Promise me that you will try to survive and to win these games and come back home to us.” She demanded. Belle lifted her blue eyes to Mary Margaret’s green ones and bit her lip, then nodded.

“I promise.” Belle murmured the words like an oath. At that moment, the door opened again and a Peacekeeper herded Mary Margaret and David out over hurried goodbyes and “I love yous”. Belle collapsed into a nearby chair, her face in her hands and her knees tucked into her chest.

A quiet knock on the door disrupted her and she jerked her head up, quickly wiping away her tears as an unexpected figure walked into her room.

The tanner was not a particularly remarkable man; the smooth planes of his face were worn by exposure to the chemicals he used to make his leather products. His messy blonde hair clashed with his favored shade of red shirts and he was never without his orange bow tie. He was an odd man, but kind and he had always shown her compassion in their past dealings.

He didn’t say a word as he stepped into the room and Belle faced him in silence as he grabbed at a small bag in his coat pocket and handed it to her meekly. She accepted it with a quiet thank you and before she could even look inside, he was gone.

The bag contained some of the fancily made cookies that the bakery sold; the sort Belle had never been able to afford for her family. Ten of the cookies were small, round little things with tiny drops of chocolate. Six more were rabbit shaped sugar cookies frosted with white icing. Belle clutched the bag to her breast gratefully and pondered the tanner’s actions. She was very possibly the one who would be responsible for his son’s death. And yet, the man had shown her compassion in a very dark hour.

——-

The last look Belle had of her home was of the platform disappearing behind the train, only to be swallowed up by the forest as they pulled away and the machine that bore them gained speed. It was only then that Belle realized she had forgotten one very important goodbye.

She raced to the nearest window and flung it open hastily, throwing her head out of it and gulping in the fresh air, heavy with the smell of pine and wild grass. From within the compartment, she could hear Mal yowling at her but Belle could not have cared less. Wherever they were going, it was unlikely there would be pine trees. This was her last chance to enjoy the smells of home, the verdant greenery, and the way that sunlight mottled the forest floor. She would not miss an opportunity to enjoy one last moment with the landscape that had come to be her safe haven, her home.

She was still staring at it all when a pair of surprisingly strong arms wrapped around her waist and hauled her back inside. Almost at once, she was released and fell to the floor in a heap until she rose up furiously, only to find herself face to face with none other than a once more conscious Gold, who waggled a finger in front of her scoldingly.

“Now, now dearie, don’t go getting any ideas for dramatic escape attempts.” He chortled and reached into his pocket to produce a silver flask, which he hastily uncapped and swigged deeply from.

“I wasn’t trying to  _escape_.” Belle retorted hotly. “I was just saying goodbye…to home.” She finished defensively as she turned her back on him. She excused herself from the room and avoided eye contact with all of them as she made her way down the hall and back to her compartment, shutting and locking the door behind her. Belle sank to the floor in the middle of the room and lay still, too tired and emotionally drained for the tears she longed to shed. Even when Mal came knocking for her to come to dinner, Belle didn’t budge.

——-

It was hours later and the train was quiet as it hurtled along toward the Capitol. Belle had tried to sleep but everything from the softness of her mattress to the smoothness of her blankets to the smell of her room had been  _wrong_. And so, at some odd hour of the night she had stolen out of her room and into the lounge car.

Moonlight dappled the couches and the familiarity of at least that one fixture offered Belle some comfort as she seated herself cross legged on the couch.  _No matter where she went, she would always be looking at the same moon as her loved ones._  She closed her eyes and tried to pick up on the slight rocking of the train. It was a very subtle motion but once she felt it she focused on it, hoping that it would lull her to sleep.

It didn’t.

She didn’t want to cry. Not anymore. That feeling (short-lived as it had been) had passed some time ago. Now, all she wanted was to be somewhere else. It wasn’t that she wanted to run away – though to an extent, that was true – but rather, Belle wanted a  _break_. She wanted to be allowed to walk into her room and find her room back in District Seven. She wanted to take a breath of air and not feel that, just by breathing, she was in some strange, alien place.

She just wanted something  _familiar_. Something to give her comfort. Something more than the moon alone.

“If you’re going to cry, now’s the time.”

The voice snapped Belle out of her own thoughts as a much more composed looking Gold shuffled out of the shadows and into the pale swath of moonlight. He seated himself across from her in one of the plush leather chairs, bathed in an aura of self assurance that Belle could only dream of having. 

“I wasn’t going to cry.” She countered and he smirked.

“Well, if you  _were_ to cry, you ought to do it now, when you have time to recover. Don’t want to go back in front of the cameras at the Capitol looking red eyed and puffy-cheeked. Makes you look weak. Makes you a target.” He advised. Belle tilted her head as she took him in, trying to figure him out.

“I-I’ll keep that in mind… Thank you.” She said at last and he nodded dully. When she showed no signs of leaving, he glanced her way and stared at her hard for some time, his brow creasing into a deeper frown the longer he looked at her.

“You should sleep.”  He said dismissively and in response she only tucked her knees up to her chest and rested her chin atop them.

“I…can’t.” She responded carefully, not wanting to seem disobedient but truly appalled at the notion of returning to that stuffy little room where everything was so unfamiliar and strange. When she looked to him again, he was staring at her with a ponderous look, his chin resting in his hand.

“I…I have just the thing.” He flashed her a smile, though it was softer around the edges this time, not sharp or biting like his others. No, this one was genuine, actually managing the herculean task of reassuring her.  

He limped off into the darkness, in the direction of the dining cart without another word and Belle was left alone to her thoughts for a while. Unintentionally, she found herself wiggling her toes and watching them with more attentiveness than she would have thought possible. It was remarkable though, the way that the human body worked. She didn’t have to think about how she moved very often. Walking was walking, waving a hand was waving a hand. But the more she thought about it, it was rather spectacular that her will could command the flesh and bones of her body to react. To be sure, there was more to it than that – her science classes in school had taught her as much. Little neurons firing rapidly and all that business. But as she sat wriggling her toes and watching them scrunch and unscrunch, she began to truly appreciate the miracle that was the human body.

Such a shame she wouldn’t live long enough to appreciate it.

“Remarkable, isn’t’ it?” Gold’s voice punctured the silence and made her jump as he reappeared through the shadows, a cup of tea in each hand. He offered her one cup and she accepted gratefully before she answered him.

“What’s remarkable?” She asked as she blew on the steaming liquid, her blue eyes peering at him over the cup. He surveyed her for a moment and blew on his own cup, then took a deep swig before he addressed her.

“The way our bodies work.” He said with a nod in her direction. “The way we move. The way we function. Or don’t.” He offered with a little smile and a wave to his own crippled knee. “That’s what you were thinking about. Wasn’t it?” It was worded to be a question, but his tone made it plain that he knew it to be true so she nodded shyly.

“How did you know?” She asked, staring at her tea as she sipped tentatively at it instead of him. Anywhere but him. He…it was like he saw  _through her_. All her defenses and walls were useless against him. He knew what she was thinking about. It left her feeling exposed and yet,  not vulnerable. Because he was her mentor; he was meant to shield her from pain, not to bring it.

“Everyone goes through it. None of us appreciate our bodies until we know we’re likely to lose them.” He reflected, his tone heavy as he watched her with dark, knowing eyes.

“I suppose we don’t.” Belle shrugged with a sigh and uncoiled her body so she was sitting normally in the cozy chair, the tea held carefully in her hand as she readjusted. “Thank you…for the tea.” She offered, lifting the cup appreciatively. “What is it?” She asked as she took another sip, this one deeper. “I’ve never had anything like it.” But then again, that wasn’t saying much. District Seven was hardly the cuisine center of the world; there were plenty of things she hadn’t tried.

“It’s made with the blood of past tributes.” He answered back sharply and Belle felt the cup tumble from her grip as a cold wave of dread passed through her. She coughed, the sip she’d just taken caught in her throat and leaving her unable to breathe as she hacked, trying to clear her airway. When at last she could breathe again, she looked at him with wide eyes to find him staring at her with a look just as shocked.

“That ah…that was a quip.” He announced, a hint of apology in his voice as he sheepishly grinned at her. “Not serious.”

They stared at each other for several moments, both uncertain what to say until finally Belle felt a soft laugh bubble out of her, relief flooding her system. It was…it was  _nice_ to be able to laugh about something. She hadn’t felt like honestly laughing since before Mary Margaret’s name had been called at the reaping. It felt good though, normal almost and even his own expression brightened considerably as she laughed.

She stooped to fetch the cup and frowned at the mess she’d made of the rich carpet but it was the cup itself that prompted a sharp intake of breath. Belle looked to Gold apologetically and lifted the cup up before her.

“It…it’s  _chipped_. I’m sorry.” She murmured. He looked at her in amusement and shrugged before he rose and traded her the chipped cup for his full one.

“It’s just a cup, dearie.” He smirked. “Finish that and then try to sleep. It has _passionflower_  in it; helps the drinker drift off straight away.” He tapped her nose cheekily to get her attention and when she was looking, he tapped the side of his head. “Might want to remember that for later.”

——-

She awoke slowly the next morning, the side effects of the tea still upon her as the sunshine stole into her compartment and roused her. Well, the sunshine and Mal’s high pitched trill when she stormed inside and informed Belle that she had exactly five minutes to get herself to the dining cart to eat.

Breakfast was a less terse affair than dinner had been and while Mal made pleasant small talk with Jefferson, Belle finally found some courage (and her voice) amongst the hot chocolate and fresh bread.

“So, you’re our mentor.” Belle said slowly as she stared at Gold, who was seated next to her nonchalantly. He gazed at her for a moment, then nodded as he reached into his pocket and produced a flask.

“So it would seem.” He remarked as he dumped the flask into his orange juice as Belle and Jefferson watched, Jefferson with a scowl.

“So what ‘mentor’ type things do you have to teach us?” Jefferson asked briskly as he stared down Gold from across the table. The older man snorted in amusement and picked up his glass, then used his spoon to mix the contents with the alcohol he’d just added in.

“What do I have for you, hmm…” He mumbled in false concern. “Oh, that’s it.  _Don’t die_.” He remarked snidely and lifted the glass to his lips.

Then, everything seemed to happen at once. Jefferson lunged across the table and smacked the glass out of Gold’s hand while pouring the steaming contents of his hot chocolate mug over his head with the other. Gold sat in perfect stillness, blinking through a curtain of wet hair as Jefferson sat back down with a self satisfied smirk. Gold stared at the boy for a moment, wearing a matching smirk until he lifted his cane and reached across the table with it and clocked Jefferson solidly in the nose. The blow knocked Jefferson out of his chair and suddenly Mal was on her feet, shrieking.

“ _MANNERS!!_ ” She screeched as she waved her cloth napkin angrily at the pair of them and Belle looked on, completely thunderstruck.

“He asked what I had to teach him. Lesson one: don’t interfere with my drinking.” Gold snarled and then sat back down to spear his food moodily, his cane hooked over his arm as if he hadn’t just bloodied a boy with it.

Belle glared at him for a moment and then rose to help Jefferson up. She took her own napkin and placed some of the ice cubes from the cooler in it and was about to put the lot of it on his already darkening bruise but Gold waved her away.

“Leave it. He’s got to wear that like a badge of honor. It gives him the look of a fighter.” Gold directed. Belle glanced at Jefferson and he shrugged at her then nodded. The pair of them cleaned up the mess quickly and then returned to the table, staring at Gold with looks half uncertain, have hopeful.

“Do you…is there anything else we should do?” Belle asked quietly as Gold chewed. The older man looked at her for a moment, swallowed and then sat back from the table.

“Whatever your stylist says, goes. No exceptions.” He remarked as he looked them both over in turn. “You’re not without hope, I’ll give you that much. If you listen to me and let me have my rum, we’ll be fine. Disobey me or pull a stunt like that again and you’re on your own.” He growled fiercely.

“No.”

Belle wasn’t even aware that she’d spoken but the way everyone turned stiff as a board and turned to look at her clued her in that  _she_ had been the one that had just spoken and openly defied her own mentor.

“What was that, dearie?” He asked through gritted teeth. Belle sucked in a breath and closed her eyes for a moment, squared her shoulders and then opened her eyes again to stare him down.

“No drinking. As long as we’re in the Games and in danger. You have to be sober. We’re going to need you helping us on this side.” Belle directed, her voice sounding much more confident than she herself felt.

He held her gaze for some time, clearly none too pleased with her. But eventually he nodded, albeit angrily.

“Very well; it’s a deal.”

——-

The Capitol’s train platform had been overwhelming in the extreme. People everywhere, swarming and screaming, pointing at her and Jefferson as Gold and Mal guided them off the platform. They weren’t even in the arena yet and already Belle felt her humanity leaving her as she was stared at like a piece of meat. They didn’t see her as a human or even as a living thing - she was nothing but a pawn, a toy for their amusement.

The prep team was no better. They wore ostentatious clothing and their faces were ridiculously made up. Apparently ‘natural’ equated to ‘ugly’ in the Capitol.  

The trio working on her were entirely off-putting as they went about the business of preparing Belle for her stylist. They tugged roughly at her hair as they brushed it, complimenting her on the loveliness of the shade. That, however, was one of the few times they addressed her; the rest of their conversation was devoted to their excitement about the upcoming games. Belle was silent the entire time as she held back tears.

It wasn’t that what they were doing hurt – it did hurt, quite a lot actually, to have them pulling plucking, and waxing away. But the  _shame_  she felt at being so naked and exposed? That hurt went far deeper. It took them two hours to prepare her to their satisfaction and by that time, her eyes felt sore and her head hurt from holding back tears. They’d scrubbed every inch of her viciously until she was quite certain not a trace of District Seven germs remained on her body. Then, rather unceremoniously they had left, with only the casual explanation that her stylist would ‘be along after while’.

And so Belle had waited. And waited. Stark naked, embarrassed, scared, lonely and a thousand other things at once, she kept reminding herself of Gold’s words on the train.  _Whatever your stylist says, goes._  It hadn’t seemed difficult at the time but already it was proving a challenge.

“Hello Belle.” The voice came from the shadows, disembodied and a little unsettling as Belle turned and craned to catch the maker of it. Out of the shadows, a slender, female figure emerged, dressed in a skintight black dress. The top portion of the dress was fashioned like a vest; Belle recognized the style as it was something she’d seen the mayor wear on special occasions. Beneath the vest portion of the top half, the woman was wearing a long sleeved maroon top with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She herself was young; she couldn’t have been more than her mid-twenties, Belle thought to herself.

“My name is Ruby; I’m your stylist.” She introduced herself quietly, her dark eyes taking in Belle as she circled the younger girl with a critical eye.

In the way of makeup, Ruby boasted only a line of maroon eyeliner that appeared tattooed onto her eyelids. Around her neck she wore a simple silver chain, at the end of which hung two charms: one, a silver half moon and the second, a little silver and maroon wolf charm, something simple enough that Belle probably could have found something of similar value at home in District Seven.

Ruby was almost… _normal_. Even with the slight alterations to her natural look, Belle had to admit to herself that Ruby seemed beautiful, if minimalistic by Capitol standards. And this was supposed to be her stylist?  

“I don’t remember seeing you before.” Belle responded back sharply, perhaps a little defensively, if she judged off of the raised brow that Ruby gave her, paired with a wolfish grin.

“Yes…I’m not much of a fan of the spotlight, I’m afraid.” Ruby explained simply as she came to a halt in front of Belle. “Go ahead and put on your robe there, then come sit down. There are things we need to discuss.” She directed with a wave of her hand and Belle glanced to her left, where just in the shadows, a black silk robe hung on a hook on the wall.

She stepped off the table lightly, still feeling embarrassed to be unclothed despite the hours she’d spent utterly naked as the prep team had worked on her. Despite years of being forced to watch opening ceremonies where tributes were paraded around without a stitch of clothing, Belle was still proud of her modest nature and the last few hours had been a strain, to say the least.

When the robe was wrapped tightly around her, she padded to the chairs where Ruby sat waiting for her, her back to Belle. When Belle seated herself, Ruby leaned forward and clasped her hands in front of her and rested her chin atop them as she took in Belle. Several moments passed thusly, until Ruby finally spoke up.

“I’m sorry.”

Belle blanched at Ruby’s words and stared at her in wide-eyed amazement.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry you have to go through this. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re terribly brave. Volunteering like that. For that girl-”

“Mary Margaret.” Belle snapped back defensively, her fingers curling against the arm of the chair as she stared hard at Ruby, still not fully trusting her just yet. 

“Yes,” Ruby said gently, “well, as I said. I think it was brave of you.” She repeated in earnest before turning the subject to matters at hand. “I wanted to talk to you about tonight. The opening ceremony.” Belle nodded to show she was listening and Ruby continued. “The idea is to dress as something that represents your district.” Ruby stated, as if Belle didn’t already know.

“So I’ll be dressed up as a tree.” Belle said dully. That was what happened every year, it seemed. Tributes from District Seven were always dressed either in tree costumes or as lumberyard workers, while the tributes from the richer districts were dressed in wild getups reflecting the affluence of their homes and stealing the attention of sponsors.

It really wasn’t any wonder that no one from District Seven had won since Gold.

“No.” Ruby responded sharply and Belle looked up at her with wide eyes.

“No?” She repeated and Ruby gave her that same wolfish grin from earlier.

“No. That has been the go-to costume in the past but my predecessor stepped down after last year’s games. This is my first year as the senior stylist for District Seven - and I plan on making sure you make quite the impression.” Ruby beamed and Belle couldn’t help but return the older woman’s smile.

“So, no trees?” Belle asked quietly and Ruby leaned in toward Belle with a smirk.

“Oh, I didn’t say we wouldn’t have trees; just that you won’t be dressed as one. At least, not in the traditional sense.” Ruby responded with a short, barking laugh before she leaned forward toward the table between them and began to sketch out her plans for Belle.


	3. A Rose Among Thorns

It seemed like a lifetime from the moment Belle met Ruby and the two discussed her costume, to the time of the opening ceremony. In reality, Belle knew it had only been a few hours. She stood beside the pair of bay horses hitched to the chariot that would carry her and Jefferson out before the crowd, and fiddled nervously with her fingers. As she stared out at the other tributes, all dressed in costumes that reflected their Districts, she couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.

She was naught but Maurice French’s odd little daughter, bookish and reserved. How was she to win the hearts of thousands? She was not meant to stand before the masses and endear herself to them. She was far too shy for that and looking around, it was plain to see that her opponents were far less shy than she.

The girl from District Four was dressed as a gold scaled mermaid and the boy was wearing a fishing net and had been tattooed in images of tridents. How appropriate; District Four was the fishing district. The twin siblings from twelve looked like they’d been dipped entirely in black paint, with only their teeth and eyes interrupting the paintjob. Of course – District Twelve was coal, their costumes were most always black.  The tributes from eight were dressed in over the top ensembles made with what seemed like a thousand different types of fabric. Naturally, District Eight being textiles and all.

Before she could finish surveying the rest of the tributes, Belle felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find herself face to face with Ruby.

“How are you feeling?” The brunette asked and Belle shrugged uncertainly.

“You’re sure it will work?” Belle questioned nervously and Ruby beamed in response.

“Positive.”

“Good… I-I’m not very good in front of crowds.” Belle responded shyly. It was true; she’d never done well in school when presentations were in order and she very much doubted increasing the size of the crowd would do much to quell her nerves.

“Don’t worry about the crowd. Just remember what we discussed. Lift your hands up like we planned and my design will do the rest.” Ruby assured her, giving the younger girl a pat on the shoulder before she turned to leave. She stopped short as she noticed Belle fiddling with her fingers and tapped her shoulder gently in warning.

“Careful there; don’t want to mess up your paint job.” Ruby grinned and Belle blushed as she dropped her painted hands. Where the dress Ruby had put her in did not cover her skin, Belle’s arms and hands had been painted to look like a trellis of vines. Her hair had been braided and laid against her head so that a garland of leaves fitted as a crown could be placed atop her brow.  

Not long after Ruby left, a steady tapping sound preceded Gold’s arrival as he shuffled up to her, his eyes dark as he surveyed her critically. Belle lifted her chin as she met his gaze, intent on earning his approval. If her mentor didn’t believe in her, no one else would have a reason to.

“You cleaned rather well… I suppose.” He muttered gruffly and she felt the corners of her lips pull up into the barest of smiles. Apparently he noticed, because he was smirking back at her when she looked up at him again. “Careful there dearie,  _you almost smiled._ ” He cautioned her as he leaned in close to her and fussed with one of the braids in her hair for a moment before he leaned back with a satisfied grin. “There you are. Off you go, then.” He offered. Belle frowned at him in confusion as she patted at the place where he’d touched her hair and found he’d placed a flower in the braid.

He noticed her puzzlement and sighed, then pulled the flower from her hair so she could see it, offering it to her with a little bow. She gave him a full fledged smile as she accepted it, turning it over and over as her eyes took it in. It was like nothing she’d seen before; vibrant red, with a long stem and delicate petals.

“What is it?” She asked softly, her voice and eyes full of wonder. He studied her for a moment before he answered her, his voice softer than it usually was.

“You don’t know?” He queried and she shook her head bashfully as she continued to turn the flower over in her hands.

“We don’t have these in District Seven.” She offered curiously. “At least, not that I’ve ever seen.” Flowers were the sort of luxury item they had never been able to afford. The only flowers she knew were those that grew wild on the forest floor.

“It’s a rose.” He answered her, though his eyes were not on the flower in question as he said the words. “They’re quite lovely flowers, roses. They have a sweet smell and they were highly valued in literature long ago. They look somewhat fragile at first glance.” He noted and motioned to the flower, which she offered him and he took carefully and spun it in his hands to point out the barbed thorn on the stem. “But anyone who has ever gotten close to a rose knows that they’re hardy; survivors. They have thorns that make them far from fragile.” He explained before he repositioned the flower so that it was once more adorning her head, wrapped in the braid.

“Thank you.” She offered in return and he nodded before he waved her off.

“You best be off; they’re queuing all the tributes up in line now. Off with you, dearie.” 

Jefferson joined Belle a few moments later, dressed in the same fabric Belle was. He flashed her a grin as he stepped into the chariot and offered her a hand for assistance. Belle gave him a pointed look and ignored his outstretched palm and opted to pull herself up into the chariot instead. Even if she did need his help, she couldn’t afford even a small act such as that. It would make her look weak.

And she had to be strong now.

From her new vantage, Belle could survey the rest of the tributes and their teams lining up and making last minute corrections. She could see Ruby standing off to the side of their group, poised as she accepted the congratulations Mal and Jefferson’s stylist, Lancelot, offered her.

Belle took some comfort in knowing that, of everyone present and involved in these games that she had met, the only ones not excited by it all were on her team. Ruby looked worn by every congratulation and Gold, standing off to the side of the group, looked downright homicidal. But then again, that might have just been the alcohol. Or rather, the lack of it.

It wasn’t until the chariot started to move that Gold looked over at her again, his eyes surprisingly sharp as he took in her and Jefferson in turn and then moved quickly to Ruby and gestured agitatedly. Ruby turned to glance at them and ran forward, yelling something Belle didn’t quite catch.

“What did she say?” Belle asked and Jefferson glanced at her with a hesitant grin.

“She said we should hold hands.” He intoned as he slipped his hand into hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. Belle frowned at Jefferson but as Ruby slid farther from view, she could see the stylist flashing them a thumbs up and Gold nodding approvingly, though his lips were pressed together in a firm, unhappy line.

Apparently Jefferson had heard correctly.

The chariot moved forward smoothly and Belle hardly could have told that they were moving at all as the horses’ harnesses jangled merrily and the roar of the crowd grew nearer. As the mouth of the tunnel loomed, Belle and Jefferson both caught each other’s eyes and nodded. As the chariot pulled into sight of the crowd, they lifted their arms up into the air to form a “Y” shape, still holding hands. As they did so, the fabric of their clothes shimmered brightly and they were suddenly both bathed in emerald green as their clothing took on the image of a thousand leaves and seemingly real leaves were projected around their arms using a set of mirrors and lights on the sleeves of Belle’s dress and Jefferson’s shirt.

As the crowd roared their approval, the light display on their clothing continued, with the leaves morphing into a yellow gold of fall and then becoming flecked with red and orange. Glancing to Jefferson to make sure he was ready, they shared a look and nodded and as Ruby and Lancelot had instructed, the pair lowered their arms sharply. As they did so, real leaves in brilliant shades of gold, maroon and orange fell away from them in a shower, prompting the crowd to scream with delight.

Beaming, Belle and Jefferson kept their arms low as their wardrobes continued to change. To represent winter, Ruby had the simulated trees of their clothing take on a silver-blue hue with fake snow seeming to drift off of the pair of tributes before tentative buds began to bloom and grow back into the emerald green they’d started out as, punctuated with brilliant white flowers.

It was, quite simply, every bit as breathtaking as Ruby had described it, a fact which Belle knew because she was awestruck by the sight of herself and Jefferson on the screens that occupied the path to the City Circle.

More importantly though, the  _crowd_ was awestruck and roared with approval as the tributes of District Seven paraded past, receiving the loudest cheers of any of the districts. Belle felt very nearly dizzy with relief and so when the chariot came to a halt in front of President Cora, Belle’s legs were trembling and she clutched Jefferson’s hand tightly for balance as the crowd chanted for them as the President called for silence and slowly, their enthusiasm was quieted.

Belle’s head buzzed with relief from the warm welcome they had received and she barely heard the words the President was saying as she welcomed the tributes to the capitol. She caught words here and there but on the whole, the President’s words went in one ear and out the other, drowned out by the thundering of her heart. So profound was Belle’s relief that, even when the chariots rolled forward to exit the city center, she was _beaming_.

That was, until the chariot pulled into sight of her team and she caught sight of Gold’s face, pinched with concern, worry in every crease. Her face fell and she slid her gaze to Ruby, hoping that perhaps it was only her mentor’s surly attitude coming out again. But Ruby’s expression was just as unsettling; her eyes were grave, her features stony.

As the chariot slid to a halt, Gold strode forward and ripped open the door, one hand on his cane to steady himself, the other extended toward her, the fingers twitching in a hurrying motion at her.

“Come along then, we haven’t got all day. We need to get up to the suite.  _Now_.”  He growled, his tone leaving no room for discussion. Belle’s fingers lit on his gently and the moment her feet touched on level ground, he was moving forward with a speed that surprised her. Behind them, she could hear Ruby’s heels clacking and the heavier clunking that signaled to her that Jefferson was not far behind.

“What’s going on?” Belle asked in a whisper but Gold’s head jerked sharply in a ‘no’, no verbal response given to her as they continued marching to the elevators. Once inside, she’d expected to be released from his grasp but he maintained his hold on her, his fingers curled tightly around hers, though he was careful not to hold her so tightly as to cause pain.

Ruby, Jefferson and Lancelot filed in after them and the whole party was deathly silent as the doors closed and the compartment shot up without a word passing between the group of them.

When they reached the seventh floor, Gold led the way out, Belle tucked neatly at his side as he strode across the suite, his gaze sweeping to and fro  as he checked every room before he finally relaxed, though only slightly.

“Lancelot, help Jefferson out of his costume. Ruby, attend to Belle. I’ll see about dinner.” Gold barked out instructions while he eyed Ruby knowingly. The young woman nodded and stepped forward, her hands clasped in front of her as she watched Gold with a quirked brow.

“Well, what’s the hold up, dearie?” He growled at her and Ruby said nothing but instead, inclined her head to the hand that clutched Belle’s for dear life. His eyes followed hers and he released his tribute’s hand almost instantly, a sheepish expression stealing across his face before he cleared his throat and impassivity replaced all other emotion. “Well then, run along little rose.” He directed her.

Belle stared at him in puzzlement at the directive.

“Little rose?” She repeated questioningly. He looked at her in exasperation and shooed her away with a huff.

“It’s a nickname. Or would you prefer ‘petulant child’? Because that’s beginning to take on a nice ring.” He grumbled but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it. She caught his eyes and gave him a small smile before she slowly turned to Ruby, who took up Belle’s hand in her own with a reassuring smile before she guided her down the hall. And with every step, she could feel the weight of Gold’s eyes on them.

——-

Ruby was silent as she led Belle down the hall and into the space that would serve as her room for the next few days. The stylist’s hands flitted about expertly as she helped extract Belle from her costume and into the shower. Belle knew she never would have figured out the mass of buttons and knobs that operated it but Ruby had hot water flowing in moments. It was then that the stylist spoke, her voice jolting Belle, so long had the silence endured.

“Shower quickly and then come find me. There will be a towel waiting for you. We’ll need to regroup and discuss our plan over dinner.” Ruby directed. Belle struggled and then failed to find her voice but she could see through the thick, frosted glass that Ruby’s shadow had left already. The young girl hurried about washing herself off, her nose crinkling as she took in the smell of the water. It was oddly sweet; not unpleasant but certainly not what she’d expected. It took her several minutes before she realized why the scent seemed oddly familiar; it was the same smell as the flower Gold had given her before the parade.  _The rose_.

Even as she turned the shower off (after a few failed attempts), the scent clung to her like a second skin, a heavy perfume. The towel waiting for her was fluffy and warm as she toweled herself off and wrapped it around her, tiptoeing shyly out into her room where Ruby stood demurely, surveying the clothes she’d laid out for Belle with an approving nod.

“You did well at the ceremony.” Ruby intoned without turning to look at Belle, instead reaching forward to fuss with the blue fabric of the shirt on the bed.

“I did?” Belle responded, surprised. When her stylist turned to look at her and nodded with a faint smile, Belle frowned. “I thought I’d done horribly, you all seemed so upset, I thought-”

“We weren’t upset; Gold and I had merely had a disagreement.” Ruby interrupted, with a subtle shake of her head, her features tight as she turned back to the clothes. “This will do for tonight. Tomorrow you’ll wear these.” She gestured to a matching top and long pants of deep mahogany and black with silver stitching and the number seven emblazoned on the chest of the shirt. “You’ll be in the training arena for the next few days; wear the uniform in the arena and whatever you like outside it. I’ll have something special for you by the time you have to do your interview with Archie Hopper.” Ruby explained hurriedly and Belle spied a bead of sweat rolling down her brow.

“Ruby, is everything-” Belle began as her stylist flashed a forced smile.

“Going as planned? Yes. Yes it is.” Ruby murmured with a sideways glance at her charge. “Go on and get dressed, I’ll be just outside your door.” She offered and stepped away without another word. Belle dressed quickly, feeling vulnerable and exposed without either Ruby or Gold beside her. And their apparent discomfort had her feeling all the more uneasy.

As soon as she stepped into the hall, Ruby took one of Belle’s hands in hers and the pair walked out to the dining room table, where Jefferson and Lancelot were already sitting with Gold, who looked no less stressed than he had before. However, the arrival of the women seemed to soothe him and some of the darkness left his features as they entered the room. He stood and waited for them to sit before he sat down again himself, his eyes shifting time and again to Belle, ever watchful.

The meal was a hurried, quiet affair with only a few sentences exchanged between the lot of them. A mention of a few outfit ideas for the interviews, Gold advising the pair to stick together during training. Nothing substantial was said, however. When they’d finished Gold rose first with a meaningful glance Ruby’s way before he shuffled off wordlessly to his room. The rest of them dispersed shortly thereafter, though Ruby shadowed Belle and stopped her in the hall, her lips to the younger girl’s ears as she spoke in a hasty whisper.

“Meet in Gold’s room in fifteen minutes. Don’t say a word.” She breathed urgently before she ghosted down the hall the way she’d come.

Belle walked into her room, her legs leaden as she tried to find something with which to occupy herself for the next fifteen minutes. She mentally counted to try and measure the passage of time while she set about pretending to explore her room. On autopilot, her fingers pried open the closet door and browsed the contents with feigned intrigue, though her mind was down the hall, wondering what on earth her mentor had to say to her in such a secretive fashion.

When she thought fifteen minutes had passed, she affected an untroubled stride and made her way down the hall, fighting the urge to run as fast as her legs could carry her. When she finally slipped inside the door at the end of the hallway, Gold and Ruby were already present, Ruby sitting coolly at the mentor’s desk while the man himself paced like a caged feral beast. Belle’s arrival drew their attention and instantly Gold lunged forward to lock the door behind her.

“Come here child.” He directed her forward and offered her his bed as a seat, it being the only other place to sit in the room. He himself stood so that the three of them each formed a point of a triangle. The two of them, stylist and mentor, stared at her with concern and Belle withered beneath their scrutiny.

“W-What’s going on?” She asked uncertainly as the two shared a knowing glance. Ruby was the first to speak.

“Belle, did you listen to President Cora’s speech?” She asked. Belle bit her lip nervously and her fingers fidgeted nervously.

“Oh…well, I was very nervous and then I was so relieved that the outfits worked I was-”

“You didn’t hear it.” Ruby interrupted gently and Belle nodded in embarrassment, though Ruby only smiled. “Don’t be ashamed, I doubt many tributes ever hear the opening speech. Too much adrenaline.” She reassured and Belle nodded, though her cheeks were still colored in her humiliation.

“President Cora…she said things.” Ruby said haltingly, uncertain how best to phrase what needed saying. Belle listened intently as Ruby fell silent and looked to Gold, who would not meet her gaze as he spoke up.

“Cora, and the Capitol by extension, thrive on the games. The games keep Storybrooke subservient. Crushes the hearts of the people. Hearts are dangerous, which is why Cora makes a point of destroying them. Do you know why the games are played by children?” Gold asked, his eyes sharp with pain as he stared down Belle. The brunette was taken aback at being put in the spotlight and shook her head, uncertain.

“Because children are what a parent loves most.” Gold explained, his eyes growing darker as he spoke. “Nothing is dearer to a parent than their child. Nothing gives a parent more hope, more joy, more love, than their children. Take that away and you have taken that person’s very heart. Their ability to love. To dream.  _To hope_.” He intoned, his voice barely a whisper as he clutched his cane tightly and turned once more to face Belle.

“Hope is a danger to Cora’s rule. If she takes the children, she takes the hearts and the hope of her people. Love gives parents strength but love is also a parent’s greatest weakness.”

The trio was quiet for some heartbeats as Gold’s words sank in and Belle felt her heart quicken at the memory of how heartbroken she had been in the moment she had thought Mary Margaret was lost to them. If the thought of losing a dear friend was that painful, she couldn’t imagine what her father was now going through, what any parent went through when their child was called. But something still didn’t add up.

“I understand but…what does that have to do with me?” Belle asked softly and this time, it was Ruby who answered her.

“You volunteered in the place of your friend.” Ruby said gently. “You did what no one has dared to do in District seven in over half a century. Your actions, your selflessness, _your bravery_? It has given the people of Storybrooke hope. And for that, Cora has decided you are her enemy. Her speech? For anyone who is, perhaps, not entirely enchanted by the Capitol, Cora’s speech was nothing but poorly veiled threats leveled at you.” Ruby said, her voice growing tight with a thinly controlled anger.

“Belle, Cora means for you to die in these games. And knowing her, she’ll make certain your death is painful and prolonged.” Ruby stated, her voice snapping with the anger she could no longer hold back. Ruby’s anger, however, frightened Belle little compared with the utter calm of Gold’s voice as he spoke up after her.

“If you die, hope dies with you.” 


	4. Hope Set Afire

The uniform clung tightly to Belle’s figure, hugging each curve in a manner that left her most unsettled as she tugged at the neck of it while the elevator dropped them lower and lower. The training area was deep underneath the city, in the bowels of the capitol’s stronghold.

“Stop fidgeting.” Ruby advised quietly from beside her and Belle looked to the brunette uneasily.

“I’m nervous.” She admitted, her voice low and pointed. Gold and Ruby had explained to her last night that they could not speak freely in the capitol, since most areas were bugged. They were only able to speak in Gold’s quarters because Gold, being the paranoid man that he was, kept anti-bugging devices with him to make his room a safe place to speak.

“Don’t be. Just remember what Gold told you two last night.” Ruby advised, glancing to her left where Jefferson stood alongside Lancelot, looking equally as uncertain as Belle felt. The boy nodded dutifully, repeating their instructions.

“Learn as many new things as we can without giving away our strengths. And stay together.” Jefferson stated assuredly and Ruby nodded encouragingly.

“Exactly. You’ll have time to show them what you’re capable of later. For now, learn everything you can that will help you to survive. Act confident, even if you don’t feel it. You can’t afford for the others to see you as weak.” Ruby explained as she lowered her head so she could whisper to Belle privately.

“And whatever you do, don’t draw attention to yourselves by doing anything that might earn you more of President Cora’s wrath.” She advised quickly, straightening again almost immediately as if nothing had happened but the chill in Belle’s veins told her it had.

Already, she had enemies. And not just the twenty three other people that would be fighting her in that arena.

\---

The training center was expansive and well stocked with weaponry that Belle knew David would have loved to try his hand at. As it was though, she found her own hands much too shaky to entrust a weapon to, so she and Jefferson stayed well away from anything with a sharp edge for the first day. Instead they opted for less lethal stations which, to Belle’s satisfaction, were the less popular stations.

Belle excelled at shelter building, snare-setting, and fire making, skills she had already possessed due to her illegal excursions beyond the District Seven perimeter. Jefferson, however, took to anything that required manual dexterity as if he’d been born for it. Knots, slingshots, and hammock making all were easily mastered by him. Belle understood the mechanics of such things after doing some reading up on them but executing them? Well, she was still a bit shaky on that.

The next day they tried their hands at the edible plants and edible insect stations. Though Belle had studied both subjects in what few books were available to her, she’d known that drawings in books couldn’t hold a candle to the actual thing so she’d never trusted herself to try her hand at identification.

It turned out that that had probably been a wise decision on her part. After an initial, abysmal display, she and Jefferson were both able to learn the noteworthy features of the insects and vegetation their instructors set before them. By the day’s end, Belle was confident that she wouldn’t again mistake a malum fruit for wild berries – and a good thing too, since the former would kill a person if it was eaten.

The next day was spent at more hands on stations as the pair visited fishing, camouflage, slingshots, and finally hand-to-hand combat. Belle had balked at the idea but Jefferson had insisted.

“Don’t you want to have some basic skills before we get in there?” He’d pestered her.

“Of course I want combat skills but I doubt I’m going to acquire them in a day, or three days, or three weeks even. Jefferson, we aren’t to call attention to ourselves!” Belle reprimanded him but he grabbed her hand and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“Don’t look. Just trust me. The tributes from District One and District Three have been eyeing us all day. We haven’t gone to a single weaponry station, unless you count slingshots, which I don’t. If we don’t do _something_ combat related, we’re calling attention to ourselves as weak links.”

He drew away from her and waited with expectant eyes as Belle casually glanced over to the opposite side of the arena, where the Careers were clustered around the Gauntlet, an obstacle course that had already been the cause of several tributes being bloodied. Sure enough, the tributes Jefferson had indicated were staring across the way at them, with amused looks that clearly indicated they didn’t view the pair from District Seven as any sort of competition.

“Fine. Hand-to-hand combat it is.” Belle remarked with conviction as she returned her focus to Jefferson, who beamed at her as they marched off.

Hand-to-hand combat was, none too surprisingly, not Belle’s strong suit.  The instructor had her slammed on the black rubberized mats in a matter of moments. She was still seeing stars when she was hauled up to her feet and the coach began to explain what she was doing wrong which was, apparently, everything.

“You’re too small to do any of the aggressive stunts you’ll see most people pull. You do that, you die. You have to use what little weight you’ve got to your advantage.” He explained and then proceeded to verbally explain to Belle the importance of angles and how the correct angle could make her slight frame as effective as a thick muscled wrestler.

“I-I think I understand.” She nodded when he’d finished explaining it to her. “Can I try now?” She asked just as a sharp cough drew her attention to Jefferson, behind her.

“Can you try one of the handful of moves that you are capable of executing, right here in front of all your competition? I don’t know, what do _you_ think?” Jefferson asked as he appeared behind her, his arms folded in front of himself formidably as realization dawned on Belle.

“I think I know it well enough.” She mused quietly and the instructor nodded as Jefferson stepped forward to take Belle’s place, not cracking a smile, though his eyes glittered approvingly.

She really had to start remembering that all of these people were going to try and kill her in a few days time. Even Jefferson.

\-----

When they finished at noon and retired to the small cafeteria to eat their lunch and await their private sessions with the Gamemakers, Belle felt thoroughly exhausted. They’d gone to the knives station and learned how to properly sharpen and throw knives, as well as how to fashion knife-like things from naturally occurring objects.

And now they had nothing to do but sit and wait.

Actually, they had to make polite small talk because Gold had told them they needed to appear as one unified pair, not two separate competitors. Belle hadn’t understood why he’d declared this necessary; there could only be one victor so unity really didn’t seem all that important. Still, she wasn’t about to question the man, moody in his alcohol withdrawals or no.

“Okay, my turn to ask you questions now.” Jefferson said, his affected smile far more polished and natural than her very obviously forced one.

“Go right ahead.” Belle remarked as she picked over what remained of her lunch. The mashed potatoes had been delightful and she’d eaten them up, as well as the meat (what exactly it had been, she wasn’t sure). The remaining vegetables had odd textures and colors to them and it was these that she now picked at less than enthusiastically.

“What is your favorite flower?” He asked as he stirred the spoon in his steaming mug of hot cocoa (his third of the meal).

Belle started to answer, images of the wild fields of goldenrod summoned by her memory until she remembered that such flowers grew in the depths of the forest that she should not have any knowledge of. As her mouth clamped shut to seal in the truth, she remembered the brief moment before the parade, when Gold had tucked the flower into her hair and had told her about the rare thing that she had been so fascinated by.

“Roses.” She answered, her voice soft as if she were speaking from far away. Still, there was a genuine note to her voice that brought Jefferson up short and he stared at her intently, keenly aware that this was no lie, no fabrication to fool those that might be listening.

“I’ve never heard of those.” He admitted, the spoon in his drink forgotten as he folded his hands before himself, intrigued. “Describe them?” He asked, resting his chin atop his folded hands as Belle began to paint a picture of the flower with her words, drawing heavily on Gold’s description.

From that point on, the conversation flowed more freely than it had the past few days, though Belle was still very acutely aware of the need for some discretion when answering and asking questions.

“What’s your favorite color?” Jefferson asked and Belle couldn’t help but smile tiredly, amused that they had been reduced to recycling questions after days spent forcing conversation.

“We already asked each other that. Yours is orange, mine is blue.” She reminded him with a soft smile and he dramatically pretended to slap his own forehead.

“That’s right. Except you were quite particular on the shade. ‘Not light blue, not blackish blue. _Blueberry blue_.'” He recited as he took on his best imitation of her voice, prompting Belle to chuckle. “Alright then blue, what’s your second favorite color?” He asked as he took a deep sip of his drink and Belle cocked her head to the side to look at him, perplexed.

“My second favorite color?” She repeated and he nodded. “Well, I don’t know. I never really thought about it.” She admitted, mentally grasping for an answer until it struck her even harder than the ground had when the combat instructor had flipped her onto her back. “You know the color of the sunset? Where the orange touches the yellow and deepens it, warms it just a little?” Belle illustrated as best she could with her words. “It’s not yellow and it’s not orange but this perfect blend of them, almost.” She sighed happily. “That color.”

“You mean gold?” Jefferson remarked with a knowing smirk and Belle felt her cheeks flush as she ducked her head.

“I guess you could call it that.” She acknowledged, suddenly terribly engrossed in the food remaining on her plate. “I just think it’s a pretty color, that’s all. Anyway, what’s _your_ second favorite color?” She asked, trying to change the subject as quickly as she could, her heart hammering in her chest. When she looked up, however, Jefferson’s usual stoicism was gone, replaced by a look of cold dread that he only shook away (and poorly) when he became aware of the fact that she was watching him.

“Jefferson what’s-” Belle began but he promptly cut her off.

“Maroon. Mine is maroon.” He fumbled, his tone clipped as he fought to regain his composure. “My turn to ask you one. What’s your favorite childhood memory?” He asked, quickly changing the subject. Belle, though intensely curious and more than a little unsettled, had no choice but to play along as they whittled by the minutes as they awaited their turn before the Gamemakers.

The room emptied slowly as other tributes went to show their skills and didn’t return to the cafeteria. Belle felt her sense of nausea growing as time passed and she could only imagine what the poor tributes from District Twelve must feel like, the last to go, forced to wait and stew in their dread.

Belle felt her pulse quicken when her name was called and she walked with measured strides as she was escorted to the training center. For the first time, the massive space was empty, save for a balcony overhead where numerous people sat laughing, drinking, and talking. By all accounts, they had not even noticed her entrance. Their interest was, apparently, already waning.

Not one to be easily disheartened, Belle grabbed a length of rope and tied a serious of complex knots before scaling the rope course and shimmying along a pipe to dangle the rope from the ceiling. She’d decided on this course of action for several reasons; knot tying and climbing were both her strong suits and they could be displayed on the way to her true strength – her archery.

As her boots hit the floor with a smack that echoed through the empty room though, she saw that most of the Gamemakers had turned away from her in apparent boredom and were chatting idly about goodness only knew what. Belle frowned, a flicker of anger fanned by their behavior coming to life. She was the one who would mostly likely die within the next few days and they couldn’t be bothered to at least pay attention to her?

She took a deep, steadying breath and expertly fitted arrow to bow. Out of (bad) habit, she bit her lip and with only the slightest tremble in her fingers, she released. A sweet _thrum_ sounded and when she looked to her target, she saw that the arrow had severed the rope dangling from the ceiling with ease.

_Perfect_.

She looked up to the Gamemakers hopefully and found not a single pair of eyes upon her. It was at that moment that something within her snapped. Belle knew that her archery was the only leg she had to stand on in these games and the gamemakers had not afforded her so much as ten minutes worth of their attention to view it. Logic dictated that if showing off her skills in a socially acceptable manner wasn’t working, she would have to do something less than socially acceptable.

With a huff, she stormed off to the fire-building station and snatched up the flint. From there she ventured to the edible plants station and quickly crushed up a leaf and added some water until she had a thick, dark green paste. Into this paste, she dipped a rag and set about painting the floor with the goop, quickly rendering a passable drawing of a rose onto the floor. Satisfied, she next dipped her arrow's tip into the remaining paste before using the flint to cast a spark onto the head.

The arrow head caught on fire easily and Belle turned quickly, her body no longer hiding the fire from view as she fitted the flaming arrow to her bow and with only a moment’s hesitation to aim, let it fly. As if in slow motion, the arrow sailed from her, a solid shot that found its mark with ease. With a little splash, the projectile landed in the punch bowl and in moments, the bowl was engulfed in flames that danced across the surface of the liquid. 

Alcohol spiked beverages were, in Belle’s experience, quite flammable. And now, thanks to her antics, the Gamemakers knew this as well. Without a backwards look, Belle struck at the flint and let a shower of sparks fall onto the rose she'd painted on the floor. The flammable paste burned brightly and just like that, Belle had a burning effigy of herself; a rose on fire, beautiful but fierce just as she was.

Satisfied, Belle turned back to face the judges and swooped into a dainty, sarcastic curtsy

“My deepest thanks for your attention.” She remarked dryly before she spun on her heel and walked away, clutching tightly to the nugget of bravery that had prompted her behavior. She could not help but wonder though, if it was bravery or foolishness that had called her into action.  

She supposed that, in a few hours when the scores came out, she would find out.

\-----

“You did _what?_ ” Gold glowered after Belle had relayed her tale to him.

“I was angry! It’s my life that will be on the line out there and they couldn’t even be bothered to watch me for twenty minutes!” She lamented as Gold shook his head viciously, angrier than she had ever seen him.

“The scores they give you can decide your fate in these games!” He growled back and Belle drew herself up, defiant.

“No one decides my fate but me!” She countered, prompting her mentor to roll his eyes.

“So brave. So gallant… _So pointless._ ” He grumbled as he paced back and forth before her until he finally grabbed her by her shoulders and gave her a shake. “These games are not about staying true to your heart. They are a charade, a farce that seeks to make monsters of us all. And if you fight that? If you refuse to play by their rules? You _will_ die.” He snarled.

“I won’t let these games change me. I know what I am in my heart.” She fought back, resilient to the end. “I will not become a monster.” She promised, willing him to hear her and understand. But her mentor was too furious with her to truly take her words to heart.

“But you _will_. Everyone does eventually.” He muttered coldly as he turned away from her. Belle, however, grabbed his elbow as he turned to go, her eyes glimmering brightly as he spun to face her again.

“ _You_ didn’t.” Her words seemed to have a profound effect on him; the lines of his face softened momentarily as he took her in, a shaking mess on the verge of tears. But as quickly as he exposed that raw, vulnerable, _human_ side of himself, it was gone.

“What are you talking about?” He ground out slowly, his eyes locked on hers. But Belle refused to be moved on this subject.

“You’re not a monster. You’re haunted; that’s why you drink all the time. To help you forget. But you’re _not_ a monster.” She repeated, conviction in her tone. There was a healthy pause as he surveyed her, wonder in his eyes as Belle continued, gulping softly. “And if you can do it…if you can make it through these games without becoming a monster…so can I.” She breathed, her voice barely above a whisper as she pleaded with him, ending her argument with two simple words.

“Teach me.” 


	5. A Gilded Rose

A training score of a ten had come as a complete and utter shock to Belle; it had tied with two Careers for the highest score of the games and had outshone Jefferson’s very respectable nine, though only just barely. Ruby had beamed and hugged Belle, Jefferson had congratulated her quietly with a smile.

Gold, however, had said nothing, merely gripped the handle of his cane tightly as he stood and informed her that he would meet with her after he’d prepped Jefferson for his interview (apparently they were now being worked with individually), so she should be ready by noon. After the relief of her training score, Belle had expected the interview prep to be easy.

She’d been wrong.

“You’re still not coming across as memorable. The little wisp of a girl who volunteered for her friend had _moxy_. _This_ you-” Gold motioned to all of Belle with a frustrated wave, “- _doesn’t_.” He finished simply and with supreme dissatisfaction.

“I don’t know what you want from me, I don’t know how to _be_ someone else!” She challenged, hours spent with him coaching her having used up the last of Belle’s exhaustive reserves of patience.

“I don’t want you to be someone you’re not, I want you to be the girl those television cameras saw at The Reaping!” Gold crowed, pointing a finger at her. “She’s inside of you somewhere. _Let her out_.” He demanded.

“I don’t know how! I was just doing what was right.” Belle retorted through gritted teeth, a sense of hopelessness crashing over her, though she fought it as best she could.

“Open up! Let the audience see into you, see who you are.” He growled.

“I’ve answered every question you’ve asked me, I’m being open!”

“Being an open book isn’t enough. You need to give them some of yourself. Show them the Belle they saw on that platform. Tell them what makes you tick; they need to understand your life.”

“I don’t want them to understand my life; they’re the reason everything that I love in life was threatened in the first place!” Belle countered, taking on a defensive tone as the urge to protect her loved ones surged within her.

“Then lie!” Gold pushed her and Belle shook her head viciously.

“I’m not a good liar, I can’t just make something up on the spot, in front of everyone!”

“Then learn.” He warned, his voice edging on dangerous. “Being pretty and sweet isn’t enough, even with a high score from training.” He snapped and Belle fell silent, staring at him in confusion.

_Pretty?_

“You think I’m p-”

“Try to channel the girl from the Reaping again.” Gold interrupted, striking the ground with the bottom of his cane forcefully as he changed the subject.

“I can’t!” Belle admitted, putting her hands to her temples and massaging fiercely. “I can’t do that. Not with you watching me!” She exclaimed and almost as soon as they’d left her mouth, she regretted the words. Her mentor looked as though she’d struck him, so taken aback was he.

Silence stretched for an uncomfortably long duration until Gold finally spoke through clenched teeth, the hand on his cane white knuckled and the other trembling slightly.

“Very well. I think we’ll take a break for now.” He uttered before he hobbled off quickly, leaving Belle alone in her quarters. With a heavy sigh, she collapsed onto her bed, ignoring the fact that her pose was entirely unladylike and probably thoroughly childish to anyone who might have been watching.

Let them watch. Let them judge. She could not be what he wanted her to be. Belle had always _wanted_ to be brave – that did not make her _capable_ of bravery, however. Especially not when _he_ was watching her; she couldn’t seem to focus with the knowledge that his brown eyes were on her, those eyes that seemed to know her far too well. How could anyone focus when-

“Coaching for the interview not all you expected it to be?”

Belle sat up quickly, having missed the sound of Ruby entering, too engrossed in her (was it anger?) at Gold. She stared sheepishly at her stylist and gave a shy nod.

“I can’t be what he wants me to.” Belle admitted with more than a touch of sadness. Ruby cocked her head to survey Belle for a moment before she strode forward, her hands clasped behind her as she mulled over something silently in her head.

“You think he wants you to be something else.” Ruby commented, her words more an observation than an actual question. Belle nodded morosely and hung her head, ashamed at her failure to meet her mentor’s expectations. It was not until a soft shifting of the mattress as Ruby sat down, and a soft pressure beneath her chin as the stylist cupped her face that Belle looked up and into her stylist’s dark eyes.

“Gold wants you just as you are.” Ruby intoned, her voice firm and her grip on Belle unyielding. “You think he would see you changed but in truth, he asks only that you see yourself as he does.” Ruby explained, releasing Belle with a gentle pat to her cheek.

Belle flushed, still not understanding and beginning to feel every bit the idiot for her lack of comprehension.

“I don’t understand. What does he see that I don’t?” She queried. What was she, truly, but a girl who could fire an arrow with some degree of accuracy? She was nothing. Nothing but a pawn in a game far too vast for her to understand.

Ruby smiled at her knowingly and stood, twirling a lock of Belle’s hair between her fingers as she did so. As the stylist went to tuck the hair behind Belle’s ear, she leaned in, her lips to the young girl’s ear.

“He sees bravery. And intelligence. Beauty. Loyalty. Honor. He sees the same thing that President Cora fears; he sees _hope_.” Ruby breathed before she pulled away, a pleasant smile fixed upon her features as she added. “And so do I.”

Belle ducked her head to blink back appreciative tears and sniffled for a moment before she forced herself onto her feet and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“You...you really see all that?” She questioned and Ruby made a quiet noise as she stood and gently guided the younger girl across the room, to the floor length mirror. There, she forced Belle to look at herself and stood behind the girl, her head craning over Belle’s shoulder to see the reflection before them.

“Yes. We do.” Ruby intoned encouragingly and Belle blushed at the praise, still in awe that any of them truly thought her brave for her actions back in District Seven. It had never been her intention to make a scene. She’d just wanted to save her friend, to do what was right.

“I still don’t know how to show the rest of Storybrooke what you two see though.” Belle whispered softly and Ruby only smiled and spun the girl to face her, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. Instead of answering her though, she offered a question to the young tribute.

“Belle, do you trust me?”  The stylist asked, her eyes boring into Belle’s. When the girl nodded, Ruby offered a wolfish smile. “Well then, it’s quite simple, really. When you’re doing that interview, just pretend it’s me you’re talking to. Just you and I, chatting as we are now. Like old friends. Do you think you can do that?”

Belle smiled shyly and nodded as Ruby patted her shoulders and stepped back with a smile.

“Then go do that now and practice some more with Gold.” She directed and Belle nodded obediently as she collected herself, only to be interrupted once more by Ruby. “Oh and Belle?”

Belle drew up short and looked at Ruby, whose eyes had gone suddenly even more serious.

“ _Try_ when you’re practicing with Gold. Listen to him; you will need to understand how he thinks when you’re in the arena… It’ll save your neck. And… it’s important that he knows you understand him.” Before Belle could give voice to her confusion though, Ruby stepped out of the room, only to return a few moments later with a rolling rack of clothing.

“Alright, time to put some _real_ clothes on you.” Ruby grinned, motioning at Belle to come closer as she lifted a dress from the pile and dangled it before the girl. Belle instantly paled at the sight of the clothing article.

“No, Ruby I can’t wear that, look how _short_ it is!”

“It’s flattering. You have to play to your advantages Belle and your looks are _definitely_ an advantage.”

“I can’t. Ruby _look at that_ I would look like a fish out of water in that.”

“I was going to say ‘princess like’ but if you think ‘fish out of water’ sounds better, go for it.” Ruby shrugged teasingly as she firmly pushed the dress back to Belle. “What was it you were told? To obey your stylist no matter what, right?” She remarked, entirely too chipper as Belle grudgingly accepted the dress and went to put it on.

\-----

Belle felt like she might throw up.

Ruby had dressed her in a gold creation that had Belle positively _itching_ to set herself on fire. She felt utterly exposed, a feeling that only compounded her growing anxiety as her interview drew nearer. The top half of the dress hugged her body tighter than any article of clothing she’d ever worn before and the bodice glimmered like liquid gold every time the light hit it. The skirt portion (an ‘A-line’, Ruby had called it) stopped at her mid thighs, where the fabric (which looked light and airy to the touch but was actually rather heavy) poofed out playfully. It reminded Belle of an upside down flower and honestly, that was probably an accurate depiction of how she felt; upside down in a topsy turvy world. Her hair had been artfully arranged into a tumble of large, loose curls that had little sprays of matching gold flowers woven into them. To finish the look off, teardrop shaped diamonds dangled from her ears and from the anklet just above her right foot.

Really, Ruby had gone above and beyond. Apparently Belle looked ‘smoldering’ but that sounded like an indication of her rising anger more so than it did a positive description of her appearance. Belle thought she looked ridiculous, though she had grudgingly admitted that she enjoyed the color. That admission had brought more than a little color to her cheeks but Ruby had only smiled at her, saying nothing (for which Belle was thankful).

The Tributes lined up in front of her were whittling slowly away as Archie Hopper made his way through the interviews, conducting each with a casual charm that was disarming and almost reassuring. He was quick to make the Tributes shine, taking everything they offered him and trying to package it in a form that would sell with the audience.

If the applause was any indication, Archie Hopper was _very_ good at his job.

The Tributes from District One excelled in the spotlight; the girl easily played up her looks and her strong demeanor, her blood lust apparent even to Belle. The boy played to his charm, assuming a suave, swaggering demeanor that had Belle nearly gagging. The boy from two was charismatic, relaxed and confident, the girl standoffish and brooding but assuredly strong. And so it went.

In no time at all, Archie Hopper’s voice was booming her name out across the crowd and to Belle’s surprise more than a little cheering met the announcement. She swept forward on unsteady feet, Mal’s attempts to educate her on the art of walking in heeled shoes having gone woefully without success. As it was, the three steps down to the stage had her stumbling into Archie Hopper who fortunately, had the presence of mind to catch her and then gesture comically to the audience to thunderous laughter and applause.

Hopper then led Belle, blushing fiercely at that point, to her seat, easing her into it with amusing little gestures as though he were afraid she’d manage to fall just trying to sit. This only stirred the audience up more and Belle felt a measure of appreciation for the man trying so hard to make her clumsy little self look good.

“Well then. Belle French, in the flesh. Tell me, how long have you been walking, Belle?” He asked brightly and without malice as the audience chuckled and Belle felt herself laugh quietly in spite of herself.

“Well you know back in District Seven we generally just hop around in trees all day so I suppose I really haven’t been walking all that long, Mister Hopper. They should have had me swing in on a vine.” Belle joked and Archie beamed while the audience rumbled approvingly.

While they laughed, Belle’s eyes scanned the audience, quickly finding the little cluster that was the District Seven team. Lancelot and Ruby were side by side with the prep teams next to their respective stylist, while Mal and Gold were seated directly above the stylists, edged as far apart from one another as they could manage without putting an empty seat between them.

Belle, however, focused not on her escort or on her mentor but instead, on her stylist. Ruby’s eyes were trained on the young girl. As Belle locked eyes with the older girl, she felt like a person thrown overboard who’d been thrown a life raft and she clung to it now with all her might as Archie launched into her interview.

“Well Belle, first of all you can call me Archie.” He remarked, turning to the audience and jutting his thumb in Belle’s direction. (“Can you believe she called me ‘Mister Hopper’? So precious, so formal, _so District!_ ”) He quickly returned his attention to his interviewee. “Well, let’s get the obvious over with first; the Reaping ceremony. Tell us what was going through your head when you took that other girl’s place. Who is she?” He asked quietly, his chin in his hand as he leaned toward her, trying to project keen interest.

It did not escape Belle that the audience seemed to be mimicking him and leaning in with baited breath. This was, apparently, what they had been waiting to hear. _The girl that was brave_. This was dangerous territory and not just because she risked upsetting President Cora; a less than deserving answer would lose all the support her actions had garnered. If she could not measure up to expectations, Belle might be sealing her death sentence here and now.

“Do you have siblings, Archie?” She asked softly in response and the interviewer, ever the professional, was quick to mask his surprise at being questioned.

“I’m an only child, actually.” He remarked and Belle nodded, smiling.

“So am I. My mother died before she and my father could give me any siblings. But I remember her very well. She was the kindest person I ever met; entirely selfless and compassionate. Out of everyone that I’ve met since her death, only one person has ever come close to being as beautiful of a soul as my mother.” Belle explained quietly, dropping Ruby’s gaze in favor of Archie’s as she stared at the interviewer, willing him to connect the dots.

He did.

“The girl whose place you took – she’s a beautiful soul too?” He asked and Belle nodded, a shy, small smile on her face.

“She’s my best friend. And I knew that someone with such a beautiful soul should stay in District Seven; she makes us all better. We need her there.”

“So you volunteered to take her place.” Archie breathed, genuine awe in his voice.

“I volunteered to take her place.” Belle confirmed with a nod.

There was a ripple of noise from the audience as they seemed to draw a collective breath and Belle could see the cameras overhead zooming across the crowd to capture their looks of awe and any number of tears that she could see glistening on many viewers’ faces. Archie, however, quickly drew the audience back, intent on making the most of their limited time.

“Wow…isn’t that something? You know what else was something? That dress of yours at the opening ceremony! Tell us about it!” He crowed happily and Belle ducked her head and smiled.

“It was my stylist, Ruby. She’s amazing.” Belle deferred, watching as one of the screens panned to Ruby, who dipped her head in acknowledgement of Belle’s thanks. “She’s a genius, really. When she explained it to me I could hardly believe it but the dress was beautiful and it looked _just_ like a real tree, which I loved.” Belle grinned, acting far more enthused about the whole affair than she’d really felt but not about to downplay Ruby’s brilliance. If she couldn’t win these games, she could at least try and better the lives of those around her in the process of losing them.

“So you’re quite the fan of trees then?” Archie smiled and Belle bobbed her head in agreement.

“Oh yes Archie. Quite. My mother used to call me her little songbird because I’d try and climb the trees by our house and spend the day up in them, just singing.” Belle shared and then bit her lip, realizing she’d said far more than she’d meant to. Archie was just so disarming and she’d been watching Ruby, not him and it had just _slipped out_. Fortunately, her interviewer was a kind man and reached forward to cover one of her hands with his.

“You miss her terribly, don’t you?” He asked and Belle nodded shyly, keeping her gaze trained on her heeled feet.

“Very much so. But that’s another reason I like the trees.” Belle pushed on, determined to regain control of herself and the interview. “She was a climber back home in the district. She spent all day in the trees and taught me everything she knew. I love trees because they remind me of my mother. Trees are strong, they’re beautiful. All of nature is, really.” Belle explained and Archie nodded, then tried to steer the conversation to something more of interest to the crowd.

“That’s true, nature is lovely. And you sound like you love it – so does that mean that your _rather impressive_ training score had something to do with those trees you love? Hmm?” He pressed with a cheeky grin as the audience ‘oohed’ with interest. Before Belle could answer, Archie continued. “You’re the only girl this year to get a ten, you know. Can you tell us what you did that impressed the Gamemakers so much?” He asked brightly and Belle focused on Ruby, whose head tilted in the faintest shake. _No telling_.

“Archie, you are trying to get me in trouble!” Belle crooned playfully as she shook her head. “I’m not supposed to tell. Those are the rules. But I’m pretty sure it was a first for the Gamemakers.” Belle trilled, checking back on Ruby, who gave the faintest nod of approval. _Crisis averted_.

“Not even a _little_ hint? The crowd’s dying to know, aren’t you?” He asked, sweeping his arm out to the audience who roared in response, prompting Belle to scramble. She had to say something to tide them over, that she knew. Ruby’s subtle nod seemed to confirm this, so Belle acquiesced and offered a small taste of what had happened during her scoring.

“Alright, alright. You’ve convinced me.” Belle laughed, waving for the crowd to quiet. When they’d done so she leaned forward to Archie, as if to share a secret.

“We’ll just say that there were some ah…’sparks’, shall we? I’m a bit of a…a rose with thorns.” Belle said airily as she reclined back in her chair, watching as Archie’s eyes gleamed appreciatively and he returned her smile.

“Well folks, there you have it; little Belle French is a rose with thorns.” He smirked. “So Belle, you’re a flower lover then, are you?” He asked and Belle blushed and nodded.

“I suppose so.”  She answered with a little shrug, turning her eyes back to Ruby as her stomach rolled nervously. Her stylist only gave her a thin smile, which was all the more encouragement she needed to keep her cool.

“Tell us then, do you have a favorite flower? I’m sure your many suitors would love to know, that they might woo you all the better!” Archie remarked teasingly and a lower octave roar from the crowd seemed to confirm that plenty of the men in the audience were interested. Belle paused, the unease in her stomach at being viewed thusly by the audience dropping a world away as she suddenly abandoned Ruby’s gaze and felt her eyes instead roam to the seat just above the young stylist, where Gold was staring at her with single minded focus. With her eyes trained on her surly mentor, Belle gave Archie his answer.

“Oh yes, I have a favorite. But you already know it Archie.” Belle remarked, though she never tore her gaze away from Gold to look at Archie. She could hear her interviewer fumble intentionally, as if aghast by her response.

“I do?”

“Oh yes.” Belle said firmly, her eyes boring into Gold’s with an intensity that surprised even her. “I’ve already told you, Archie. The rose. The rose is my favorite flower.” She declared, her voice only just above a whisper but as forceful as a tidal wave as she put careful emphasis on the words ‘rose’ and ‘favorite’. She could see Gold’s eyes widen as she gave her answer, his nostrils flaring just a bit as he kept his eyes on hers and she shivered before she finally peeled her gaze from his and looked at Archie who was nodding in approval.

“A lovely flower for a lovely young lady. Do you have many roses back home?” He asked her and Belle shook her head, allowing her gaze to drift back to her mentor, a smile curving her lips as she said the words.

“Oh no; I’d never seen them before I got to the Capitol. But I received one after I got here and I must confess I’m quite taken with them now.” Belle murmured and she felt her smile deepen as she watched her mentor clutch at his cane rather tightly.

“So a rose is the way into your heart then, is it?” Archie asked and Belle held her mentor’s gaze, not even bothering to think twice as she answered.

“I would say it’s certainly a start.” Belle breathed and Archie was quiet for a moment, almost digesting her answer before he seemed to register that time was slipping away from them.

“Well I’m sure your numerous suitors will be rushing to place orders with the flower shops, eh?” He chuckled and the answering din seemed to confirm this as the interviewer returned his focus to her to wrap things up. “

Belle, is there anything else you’d like to share with us before you go?” He asked and she looked to Ruby who nodded and motioned for her to spin. Belle started to frown but caught herself, instead looking at Archie and tilting her head.

“Actually Archie, I’d like to share one last thing with the audience. I told you, my stylist is amazing and she concocted something special just for them.” Belle explained as Archie stood and extended a hand to her, which she accepted gratefully.

“Don’t fall!” He cautioned jokingly and Belle giggled.

“Don’t let me!” She retorted and the audience laughed as Belle slipped out of her shoes and then pointed one hand up and the other out at her side, the way she’d seen the ballerina on her mother’s old music box pose. Then, with Archie holding his arms out, lest she fall, Belle began to spin very slowly but picking up speed and as she did, she felt a prickle of warmth as her dress shimmered, much the way her dress at the opening ceremony had.

As she came to a halt she heard the crowd gasp and as she looked to one of the giant screens she saw the image of herself, breathless and smiling in a blood red dress, the bottom half hanging in loose folds around her hips and thighs, not unlike rose petals.

Ruby had literally turned her into a rose. Over thunderous applause, Belle picked up her shoes and curtsied before she exited the stage to Archie’s voice booming her name to the masses.

“ _Belle French, The Rose Girl!”_

The thing that stuck with her most though as she looked over her shoulder was not the roaring of the crowd or the way that Ruby had nodded approvingly or Mal had stood and applauded, but rather the way that Gold had looked at her, stunned into silence and inaction as his eyes followed her figure off the stage.

It was as she ascended to the wings to wait for the other Tributes to finish their interviews that she passed Jefferson, whose name was being called by Archie. Her elation at having done well in her interview was dimmed by the sight of her district partner passing her with an expression that looked utterly hollow and suddenly Belle felt a nervous twinge in her gut.

Something was wrong.  


	6. Boundaries Crossed

Gold hadn't been at all prepared.

Oh, he'd certainly _thought_ he was ready. He'd _thought_ he had an idea what he'd be seeing. He'd known Ruby would work her magic, make the girl with the honest heart and simple beauty look stunning by Capitol standards. This he'd known.

What he had _not_ expected was for Ruby to do so while still safeguarding Belle's natural beauty. The other tributes were dressed in over the top concoctions that made them Capitol darlings and played to their personalities. Some of the girls were dressed in ways that left little to the imagination. The girl from eleven, Emma, was bedecked in a feminine yet fierce ensemble that showed she was no pixie to be brushed aside. The Career boys were all in outfits that made their muscles seemingly bulge and the children from twelve, barely old enough to compete, were both dressed to make themselves seem older than they were. All of them were playing the game of chess that was the pre-arena prep and all of them were doing it in the traditional style.

But Belle and Ruby had broken a mold, whether Belle realized it or not as she stepped onto the stage, positively _glowing_ in a golden gown that, while it probably didn't fit with Belle's modest taste, still was nowhere near as scandalous as the girl tributes before her. Belle wasn't sexy like the others, that much was certain; Belle was _beautiful_ and she was _alluring._ Both of which were far better alternatives for her, in his head.

Still, he could have dealt with seeing her, stunning as she was and dressed head to toe in _gold_ of all the fucking colors Ruby could have chosen. That he could have dealt with, he was quite certain. But then she was falling and being her normal endearing, clumsy self and he felt himself straining forward in his seat, his hands aching to be the one to catch her.

He had to settle for watching Archie do so with a flicker of jealousy which he quickly bit back, wholly inappropriate as it was.

Then the damn girl had had to go and open her mouth and instead of being guarded or shy or modest or detached as she'd been during their practice she was light and airy, clever and sharp. All the things that he had known her to be even though the rest of the Capitol had not.

Watching her open up, watching her give crumbs of her true self away? It felt like watching his little student share a secret with the world. And it was a secret he mourned the loss of because he knew that as much as they feigned to love her now, the crowd would eventually forget her as they always did, lost in the rush of face of those that died each year. Time would erase each kind word and gentle smile from their memories.

Time would not, however, erase them from his. Nor would it erase the memory of her twirling, or the look of joy on her face as she realized that she had transformed before the crowd into the very flower she'd claimed to love. The flower _he_ had given her.

And nothing, _nothing_ in this world or the next would ever erase from his memory her eyes as she locked gazes with him and had spoken of a rose and being 'taken' with the flower, of a rose being the way to her heart.

His fingers had clenched the edge of his seat at that point, resisting the urge to go to her then and there. Gold knew better; he was reading too much into her words, it was only wishful thinking that made her eyes seem to dance when she looked at him. It wasn't real; none of it was. And even if there was a basis for it, which he was certain there wasn't, Belle was a flower in danger of wilting and the only way to see to it that she didn't was to stay away.

Gold was still staring at the space where Belle had disappeared backstage when a hand lit on his shoulder, dragging him regretfully back to reality. His eyes focused on the owner of the hand, the young stylist responsible for his young tribute’s ensemble for the evening.  

“I’m going to go backstage to debrief with Belle. Anything you want me to pass along to her?” Ruby asked with a smirk far too self indulgent to mean anything good. He glared back at the young woman, intent on being angry at her for dressing the girl in gold from head to toe, of all the fucking colors she could have chosen. She was tormenting him, whether she knew it or not  

“I can’t imagine what you think I’d have to tell her that couldn’t wait a few minutes until after Jefferson’s interview.” He snapped at her sullenly, only to tense as the girl leaned in, her long brown hair a cinnamon scented curtain about his face as she whispered in his ear.  

“Retract the claws, Gold, I'm on your side.” Ruby retorted in amusement. “I thought you’d at least want Belle to know how stunning you thought she looked in her _gold_ dress. I think it’s her color. In fact, I may just dress her in it from now on.” Ruby mused with a pause before adding. “Consider that a gift, from me to you. Don’t make me regret giving it to you.” She warned with a frown before she affixed a wolfish smirk upon her face and patted his shoulder. She swept off without another word, leaving him utterly shell shocked in her wake.

At that point Mal scooted closer to him, not liking being left out of the loop, apparently.

"What did Ruby say?" She queried with interest, her purple feathered ruff jabbing him in the face as she squeezed next to him.

"She said you look like a mix between a pigeon and an alligator thrown in a washing machine and dyed purple." He grunted unhappily and sidled away from her, crossing his arms sternly as Mal glared at him. They resumed sitting as far away from each other as they could get without putting a full seat between them, both angrily awaiting Jefferson to take the stage.    

They did not have long to wait.

\-----

From the moment he walked out on stage, Jefferson had the crowd eating out of his hands as he took the steps slowly, pointing at them emphatically and then at his eyes as if to suggest he was watching the stairs. The crowd was in fits of laughter before he'd even reached Archie to shake his hand.

It was at that moment that Belle felt her first real whisper of fear; her biggest threat at this moment was not the Careers, not President Cora, not even the Game makers. It was Jefferson.

He bantered easily with Archie, discussing how much he was enjoying his time in the Capitol and discussing how wonderful the inhabitants of Storybrooke were. Jefferson talked at length about District Seven and his work making hats with the leather his father specialized in.

"So the hat you're wearing now, is that one of your own creations?" Archie asked brightly and Jefferson chuckled as he shook his head.

"Afraid not, Archie, though I wish I could take the credit for it. This was a creation of my stylist, Lancelot." He grinned, pointing out Lancelot to the crowd. The stylist beamed and waved to the crowd, receiving many whoops and hollers.

"Ah, I see, I see. Well, even if you didn't design the hat you're wearing it well, good man! Now tell me Jefferson. A dapper fellow like you; certainly you've got a significant other back in District Seven?" He queried, once more playing the love story aspect as he had with Belle.  Jefferson shifted and Belle thought that she saw perhaps the faintest hint of discomfort in the young boy.

"Me? Oh no, there's no significant other." Jefferson responded, a blush in his cheeks as he ducked his head. Archie shook his head and wagged his finger at the young tribute, playing to the audience who called encouragingly.

"Friend, your face is telling a different story." Archie grinned, leaning forward to clap Jefferson on the shoulder. "We're all friends here. Come on then, out with it! You have some fans eager to win that heart of yours!" He encouraged and Jefferson shook his head, a shy smile on his face.

“Well Archie, I hate to disappoint the crowd because you all have been so wonderful to me since I got here, but my heart already belongs to someone else.” Jefferson admitted quietly, staring at his hands as he wrung them sadly. 

“Young love! How delightful. We’re happy for you, aren’t we?” Archie posed the question to the crowd, which rumbled back approvingly and the interviewer laughed and smiled as his gaze returned to Jefferson, whose eyes were still on his hands. The young boy’s expression had darkened and Belle found herself drawn into the story, her heart breaking for the girl Jefferson had left behind, that he would likely never see again.   

“Thank you.” Jefferson said, his voice strained. Archie frowned and mimed a shrug of confusion to the audience before he reached out to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

“Jefferson?”  

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to bring everyone down.” Jefferson sniffed, wiping away a tear from his eye with his sleeve roughly as he focused on Archie, who was overcome with concern.  

“You can tell us, son.” Archie encouraged. “You’re not bringing us down. Is it something about the girl?” Archie asked gently and Jefferson nodded, his expression still pained. Archie sighed and looked to the audience knowingly. 

“Miss her, do you? I tell you what, you win these Games and you can be back with her, lickety split.” Archie grinned, giving the boy’s shoulder a good natured shake but Jefferson only lifted his head, misery written on the lines of his face. 

“No, I don’t miss her Archie…She’s been with me every minute since The Reaping. You just saw her leave the stage.” Jefferson announced quietly, fiddling with his fingers uneasily. “It’s our Rose Girl; I love Belle French.”

Archie appeared stunned speechless, a first as far as Belle could remember but then again she wasn’t exactly in a clear state of mind. The cameras panned back to Jefferson, who bit his lip and hung his head as Archie gave him a comforting pat. 

“That ah…that is most unfortunate.” The older man commented and Jefferson gave a small nod as the audience seemed to whimper collectively at his pain.  

“It’s not how I pictured things going with the girl of my dreams, that’s for certain. And I tried not to love her, I did, but...” Jefferson sighed, tears welling in his eyes as the camera zoomed in close. 

“No, no of course not…She…she’s quite a remarkable young lady. It would be impossible not to fall in love with her.” Archie offered comfortingly and then, with some of his old spark. “Did she…that is, was she aware of how you felt about her before now?” Archie asked and Jefferson shook his head morosely. As Belle watched, she saw a camera from backstage seek out her face and project it to the audience. Even to her own eyes, she looked overcome and astonished, one hand cupped to her mouth. 

If only they knew that her hand was holding back a string of words she’d only ever learned by sticking around the lumber mill at lunch time when the men got to cursing. What the hell was Jefferson playing at?  

“I didn’t have the guts to tell her. But then I saw her walking across the stage after her interview, walking away from me and I-” Jefferson paused, his eyes glossy with unshed tears as he searched for words, “-I couldn’t bear the thought of letting her leave here tonight without saying it.” He paused, swallowing and tried to compose himself as he focused on Archie. “A beautiful girl like that should know she’s loved, don’t you think?”  

Belle felt rather than saw the crowd go crazy, even going so far as to chant her name so as to bring her back out, that the young lovers from District Seven might be united onstage for all of Storybrooke to see. For a moment, Belle’s heart bucked with terror until Archie regained control. 

“Unfortunately ladies and gentlemen, the rules do not allow a tribute to return to the stage after the interview. And what’s more, our dear Jefferson Hatter’s time is up. My dear boy, from the bottom of my heart, I wish you the best of luck – in love and in life.” He nodded, clasping one of Jefferson’s hands before lifting it skyward to the sound of thunderous applause and wild screams.  

And just like that, Jefferson Hatter had won over the entire country. 

If the prep team had left a single hair on Belle’s arms, that hair would have been raised as the full meaning of Jefferson’s words washed over her, prickling her flesh with goosebumps. 

Jefferson Hatter had just confessed to loving her. And she had essentially just confessed (with her eyes more so than her words, but it had felt like a confession in her heart nonetheless) to caring for her mentor. Her stomach rolled uneasily and Belle felt her legs tremble as Ruby caught her arm to steady her, whispering hurriedly in Belle’s ear, though she heard not a word of it. 

“He’s lying!” Belle snapped in a hushed tone and Ruby held her hands up to plead for silence, but Belle’s fury was boundless. She had worked up the courage to admit her feelings (however indirectly) about Gold and now Jefferson might have ruined it all. He was painting a picture of a love story that didn’t exist and the lie left a horrid taste on her tongue. Suddenly, she remembered his expression back in the cafeteria when she’d admitted that she loved the color gold and something in Belle snapped.  

Right around that time, Jefferson appeared in the wings, apparently having finished his interview. At the same time, Mal, Lancelot, and Gold came into view around the corner but they were still far enough off that it was Belle who reached Jefferson first, despite Ruby’s attempts to hold her back.  

Jefferson beamed when he saw her striding toward her, utterly oblivious until the moment her hands grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and threw him into a wall, her anger giving her slight frame more strength than she normally possessed.  

“You lying... _weasel_!” Belle hissed as she glared at him. “You don’t love me! You don’t even know me!” She exclaimed quietly and Jefferson tried to raise his hands before him in surrender. But these were the Hunger Games. There was no surrender; this was kill or be killed and Jefferson might have just killed her already farfetched romance. Sad and childish though it probably was.   

Her hand had just curled into a fist when a pair of warm hands wrapped around her upper arms and she felt herself being towed backward by someone strong. She expected to see Lancelot when she turned around but much to her surprise, it was Gold who had tugged her away from her district partner, his eyes crackling angrily. 

Oh. Of course. She would have to answer for her behavior during the interview and of course he was angry with her. He probably had no interest whatsoever in a silly little, temperamental, teenage girl with a bad case of what he would likely dismiss as puppy love.  

“Have you taken compete leave of your senses, girl?” He growled at her, keeping a tight hold on her right wrist. “You just violated the rules; no laying a hand on a competitor until the start of the games. That’s poor thanks for what that lad just did for you.” Gold reprimanded her and Belle could only stare at her mentor, mouth agape. 

“Thanks? Why on earth would I thank him? He lied!” Belle gasped, indignant. Jefferson made a noise of complaint and opened his mouth to respond but before he got out so much as a word, Gold had turned a wilting glare upon the boy and made a noise half snarl, half growl, that had the boy falling silent before he'd even spoken.

“His lie immortalized you. Your love is melting every heart from here to District Seven and beyond even as we speak. On your own you’re a pretty but forgettable little wisp of a woman to them. But with his love? With his love, they will _sell their souls_ to sponsor you." Gold explained, his tone biting. "That lad just saved your life. If anyone deserves space in that ‘rose-loving’ little heart of yours, it’s _him_.” Gold dismissed, letting go of Belle’s hand suddenly as he stepped away from her, shaking his head. He gave Jefferson a pat on the back and shared a pointed, lingering look with Ruby, avoiding Belle's gaze altogether before he disappeared.     

Belle watched him go, feeling cold in his absence. What had she done? 


	7. Countdown

"You should sleep."

Ruby's voice was soft as she rose from the armchair adjacent to Belle's and stretched, clearly preparing to head up to her room for the night. The interviews had only been hours ago but they somehow seemed so distant.

"I can't sleep." Belle confessed, turning to peer over the cushions at her stylist with sad eyes. "I know I _should_ I just… _can't_." She murmured, her fingers nervously tugging at the tassels of one of the pillows she clutched against her. From next to Ruby, a grunt stole her attention and she saw Gold, shaking his head.

"Tonight's the last night you'll get a sound night's sleep…even if you do make it out of the games. You should enjoy it while you can." He advised without looking at Belle, his eyes trained on the flashing television screen.

"Easier said than done." Belle responded in a hushed tone, only for Gold to chuckle and motion to the chair opposite him, where Jefferson was curled up in a ball, sound asleep with his cap pulled down over his face.

"Can't be all that hard if _he_ can manage it." Gold remarked and Belle huffed in response.

"Let her be." Ruby murmured, shooting Gold a frown as she walked across the room and roused Jefferson from sleep. "Jefferson, go with Mister Gold. He'll help you to bed." Ruby instructed, meriting a roll of the eyes from Gold as he set down his drink (apple cider, Belle noted approvingly) and rose to help the sleepy youth to bed.

"Belle, come on. You need sleep too." Ruby waved to the younger girl, shooing her onto her feet. With her stylist as her escort, Belle made her way to her room and changed into a nightgown that Ruby handed her before Belle slipped into her bed.

"I know there's nothing I can say that will make any of what you have to do easier…But I want you to know that I believe in you. And so does Gold… And I don't think he's ever believed in anyone before - even himself." Ruby patted Belle's hand before she stood and departed without another word.

Belle sat, her knees tucked to her chest for some time as she listened to the revelry going on in the city below. While she and the twenty three other tributes were bracing themselves for tomorrow's bloodshed and their approaching doom, the city was glorying in it.

The Capitol had no compunctions about children dying, it seemed.

The minutes ticked by and with each one, Belle was highly aware of what she was missing out on. Each minute of sleep she lost tonight would be felt tomorrow when she would need all her energy. The minutes she lost now could cost Belle her life in that arena later.

And yet, she still found sleep impossible to come by. When at last it became too much, she shrugged off the sheets and padded out of the room. Perhaps a glass of water would help her clear her head and get to sleep. At the very least, it would give her something to do other than sit and worry.

The fire had died down in the common area, casting only a faint orange glow. Belle maneuvered in the dark and poured herself a glass of water before she padded toward the fireplace, her eyes still adjusting to the darkness.

"I thought you were sent off to bed, little rose." A husky voice broke the silence and made her jump, the glass of water tumbling from her hands and spilling all over her. Belle turned her eyes to try and spot the figure she knew matched the voice but in the shadows, she couldn't make out the features of his face.

"You scared me." Belle breathed as she stooped to pick up the glass which, thankfully, had not broken. A soft chortle met her words as Gold leaned forward and prodded the fire with a poker, prompting it to spark and hiss.

"I can't say I blame you but you're in for scarier sights than the likes of me once you get in that arena." He remarked lazily as he breathed life back into the fire. As the flames grew, so did the light they cast and Belle soon found herself able to make out Gold's worn face in the dark.

"I don't think you're scary… you just startled me. There's a difference." Belle remarked pointedly and her mentor raised an eyebrow as he turned to face her. She imagined she must be a sight; sopping wet, the fabric of her gold nightgown in ruins. She was truly a mess without Ruby's hands to craft her into the elegant creature the masses had come to know as the rose girl.

"I'm afraid most people don't share your opinion on that matter." He remarked with a bitter smile as he stood stiffly and moved toward her. With a gentle touch, he brushed the wet hair clinging to her neck away from her face and surveyed her with warm, approving eyes. For a few moments they were both silent, locked in a visual embrace until he cleared his throat and spoke.

"But then again, most people lack your ah… _subtlety_." He smirked, cupping her cheek for a moment until he started to step away from her. As he did so though, her hand fell atop his, stopping him in his tracks.

"No! Don't… Don't go." Belle pleaded softly, staring at her mentor beseechingly. The man stared back at her for some time without a word before something in him seemed to give in.

"What do you want, Belle?" He asked, his voice careful, as if afraid that any little wrong inflection of tone might send her running. She met his gaze unflinchingly, keeping a hold on his hand, as if afraid that if she let him go, he'd flee.

"Stay with me?" She asked, her voice on the verge of breaking. " _Please_ \- I don't want to be alone."

For whatever remained of her life after tonight, she would be alone. The arena was something she had to face on her own. And so was death. Even if somehow, against overwhelming evidence to the contrary, she made it out, she would be alone after she got back too. No one back in the district would understand the pain, no one else would have the nightmares, the memories.

No one except him.

He bowed his head in quiet obedience as she seated herself lightly on the couch and he seated himself beside her. Wordlessly, she clutched his hand in hers, drawing nervous circles on his palm. Sleep, it seemed, was still an elusive entity.

"Why aren't you in bed?" She asked in a hushed tone.

"I'm not accustomed to falling asleep without certain 'assistance'…" He trailed, waving his free hand lazily in the air before them. "But due to your rather unforgiving restrictions on my beverage consumption, such 'assistance' is no longer an option."

She cringed as she took his meaning, a momentary pang of guilt striking her in full.

"What about when _you_ were preparing…Did you sleep?" She queried suddenly as she rested her head against his shoulder. In answer, his body seemed to stiffen, completely tense as a result of the physical contact.

"Did I sleep when?" He asked, his voice barely audible, even as close as they were.

"The night before your games." Belle elaborated, still drawing shapes on the back of his hand.

"I did."

"How?"

"I trust you understand the mechanics of sleep." He commented sarcastically and she frowned, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from making an unkind comment.

"I mean… I'm assuming you didn't need the 'assistance' of any beverages that night… so how did you do it? How did you shut your mind off long enough to rest?"

The fire crackled and hissed before them, spitting a shower of sparks out from the dying log, stealing their attention. After while, Belle's gaze slipped back up to him and she watched him swallow repeatedly as he seemed to struggle to find the words.

"I ah…I went outside. Onto the balcony. The space…it helped." He explained. "It reminded me of home." _Home_. Belle already felt as if she was forgetting it. Had it really only been days since she'd volunteered for the Games? How was that possible?

She was too engrossed in the train of thought his words had prompted to notice that he'd shifted so he could stare at her as she sat pressed against him, the wet fabric of her nightgown clinging to his own shirt and pants. It wasn't until he spoke that she noticed his cramped, awkward pose and shifted away from him so they could face each other more comfortably.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" She asked, not having heard the first time.

"I asked what would help to remind _you_ of home." He repeated in earnest, genuine curiosity pricking at the edges of his voice as he stared hard at her.

"Well…something that smelled like home would be nice." She mused, prompting a confused frown on his end.

"Something that _smells_ of home? And what would that be, dearie, the smells of burnt lumber and the mill?" He remarked with a touch of his usual, dry humor leaping back into his voice. Belle shook her head shyly, feeling a touch of embarrassment now.

"No, not those smells… I just miss the fresh air, the pine needles and the forest..." She trailed, her eyes glazing over as she pictured it. Home. How she missed it now. Had it really only been a few short weeks ago that she'd dreamt of leaving the District, of adventuring beyond her electric fenced prison? How quickly time and recent events had changed her. 

"Hmm." He murmured, his knuckles just grazing her forehead as he swept her bangs out of her face, prompting the brunette to close her eyes, her tense muscles slowly loosening beneath the soft touch. "I've just the thing." 

He took off his suit jacket, draping it over her comfortingly. She buried her face in the rich fabric and breathed deeply, able to smell the faint scent of pine. Of  _home_. 

"Thank you." She whispered, clutching it to herself tightly as she cuddled against him. He nodded his head wordlessly, a faint smile on his lips. The last thing she remembered was the sight of him looking down on her protectively before sleep finally found her.

\-----

Breakfast was a quiet affair and the small party sat morosely about the table, no one eating much except when prompted by Mal, whose appetite was the only one seemingly unaffected by what the day held. Belle did note, however, that Mal, for all her idle chatter and seemingly unhindered appetite, did have a slight tremble in her hands as she drank down a cup of coffee with more gusto than was strictly necessary. In her own way, Belle knew that the over-the-top woman was nervous for them too.

"Well, finish up everyone. We have a strict schedule to keep today." Mal tutted as she rose from the table, pointing at Jefferson and Belle in turn. "And as for _you-_ " Mal growled, turning to face Gold with a frown, "-do something to make yourself presentable."

"I'll do what I like when I damn well please." Gold snapped back darkly, brooding over a steaming cup of coffee and an untouched bowl of grits. "I don't need you clucking at me and ruffling your feathers, you oversized ostrich." He grumbled as he rose and cast a crooked finger first at Jefferson and then at Belle. "The both of you. With me. I'll escort you and your stylists to your wardrobe change.

With uncertain looks to Mal, who nodded frowningly, the two tributes and their stylists rose, leaving their mostly uneaten breakfast behind them as they followed dully behind Gold with all the enthusiasm of a funeral march.

Jefferson was the first to be dropped off, Gold sharing a few conspiratorial whispers with the gangly lad before clapping him about the shoulder and continuing on down the hall, all business.

"How are you feeling, little rose?" Gold asked after they'd put a bit of distance behind them and Jefferson.

Belle was quiet, the storm of emotions within her leaving her near to speechless as she searched for an honest answer.

"Like I can't do this." She exhaled, the confession leaving her lips in a rush and making her suddenly feel infinitely lighter, as if saying it aloud had relieved her of the burden that the knowledge had been.

"And why is that?" He asked, his voice snapping like brittle wood beams being split in two.

"I'm not a killer. I'm not strong. I'm not fast. I'm not cut out for heroics." She whispered frantically, though she refused to let herself cry, much though she wanted to.

"That's a lie." He bit back sharply, rounding on her with eyes suddenly hard and sharp. "You're looking for excuses." He accused and she drew up short, taken aback by his words.

"I am not! It's the truth."

"It is not and you know it." He retorted with a scoff. "It's a pity; I thought you were brighter than all that."

"Brighter than what? I'm being honest with you!"

"No, you aren't! You're lying. If you're being honest with yourself, you're terrified because you know you _are_ capable of winning these games. We both know that being strong or fast isn't always what wins the games. Being smart does too. So don't lie to me and tell me you can't do this." He growled, stepping so close to her that she could smell the tinge of the coffee on his breath, mixing with the spice of rum that just seemed permanently stuck to him, whether he was drinking it or not.

He stared down at her with fire in his eyes for some moments, forcing her to hold his gaze until, at last, he spoke up again.

"You're terrified that you _can_ do this – that you can kill them all using your smarts and the things you've learned in the forest back in the district. And the idea that you are capable of taking their lives, that you might survive to have to live with that guilt? That _terrifies_ you."

She stared back at him, doing her best to make herself look larger than she felt in that moment and failing miserably. Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she tried not to tremble, flabbergasted that he could read her so easily as all that.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I wasn't always a drunken coward" He responded, fixing her with a knowing look. "I wasn't so different from you, once upon a time." He remarked, turning his back to her as he walked away.

"How did you do it?" She called after his retreating figure.

"That's for you to figure out, dearie. Though I suspect you should try to summon some of whatever insanity possessed you when you volunteered as tribute."  He sneered, once more fixing into place the cold mask he used with everyone else.

"It wasn't insanity." She responded in a whisper, her voice growing stronger at the end. "I just thought… if I did the brave thing, bravery would follow."

He had no answer for her words, merely staring at her in wide eyed surprise before he spun on his heel and left as quickly as he could, the breeze he created in his wake sending the red feathers braided into Ruby's hair to waving. She turned to glance at his departing figure curiously before returning to look at Belle, perplexed.

"What was that all about?"

"I don't think he's very happy with me." She choked out, holding back the tears welling in her eyes as she cleared her throat and faced her stylist. "Is it time?"

Ruby's swallow and subsequent, short nod was all the confirmation she needed.

"Let's get started then." Belle offered with feigned enthusiasm but Ruby only fixed her with a pitying look as she set about dressing her tribute.

The jacket was a sandy tan color with a pair of matching gloves. The shirt beneath was a hunter green, the long pants a deep shade of brown that reminded her of mud after a rainstorm. These were equipped with a thick black belt and a pair of thick tan socks and black combat boots that Ruby helped her to lace up.

When they had finished with the outfit, Ruby set about her hair, taking great pains to pull it into a tight bun.

"Ruby…I'm very grateful to you, you know." Belle found her voice, doing her best to choke back her emotions. "I can't ever thank you enough for all you've done for me."

The brunette stylist was silent for a moment and placed her hands on her hips before she turned slowly to meet her tribute's eyes.

"You can thank me by making it back out of that arena… Deal?" Ruby asked, her voice level and to the point with a note of seriousness sharper than Belle had ever heard there before.

"I'll try my very best."

"I'll hold you to that." Ruby threatened half heartedly, coming to stand alongside her charge as they surveyed their reflections in the mirror before them.

"How much longer?" Belle managed after a moment and Ruby glanced down at a glittering watch upon her wrist.

"A few minutes, at the most."

Belle nodded, doing her best to swallow down her own bitter disappointment. She'd tried not to get her hopes up but she'd still been holding out hope that Gold would return. That he wouldn't let her go into the arena with angry words having been the last things they exchanged.

Another minute had passed with the two young women standing side by side, Ruby offering silent support as Belle's time dwindled. And then, just when she'd given up all hope of seeing him, it happened.

She smelled him before she saw him.

As Ruby helped her zip up the jacket, Belle could smell the heavy spice of rum on the air and before she turned, she knew Gold was there.

“Any final advice?” She asked, her tone rigid with the fear she was grappling to hide as well as her own elation at his appearance.

There was a long pause and she saw a flicker of a smile on Ruby’s face as she patted Belle’s shoulder and backed away, leaving Belle and Gold alone in the small room. There was silence for a few moments and then she heard the steady tap of his cane as he walked around to stand in front of her.

He said nothing as he reached his hands up and fiddled with her jacket. When he pulled his hands away, there was a delicately wrought gold pin shaped into a fine little rose pinned to her. She stared at it in awe, her fingers brushing over the cool metal. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful trinket she’d ever seen. And most likely, the most expensive thing she’d ever touched.

She looked back to him in awe, uncertain how best to phrase her appreciation.

“Thank you.” She breathed, even though the words seemed grossly inadequate. But, it was really all she could think to say.

“Don’t die.” He replied gruffly, his dark eyes staring hard at her with a look equal measures sadness and something else that Belle couldn’t quite put her finger on. She didn’t dare let herself think that it was hope. Because certainly Gold, her gruff, jaded mentor, could not possibly be harboring any hope that she would return. No. _Certainly not_.

He stared at her for a moment longer, his hand ghosting over hers in the most reassuring of squeezes. Noiselessly, he leaned forward and his lips brushed across her cheek in a delicate kiss as he lingered there for a moment, his nose just grazing hers. And then, just as she was working up the bravery to move the fraction of an inch that would bring her lips to touch his, he backed away and was gone.

Her jaw went a little slack as she watched him shuffle off with a speed that surprised her and though she took a step to stop him, she was drawn up short by the sound of an overly sweet, automated female voice coming over the loudspeaker.

“Prepare for launch.”

Belle froze as goosebumps stole across her flesh and her eyes grew wide, her breathing and heart rate speeding up dramatically. A hand at her back steadied her and she turned to find Ruby had reentered the room. The stylist took Belle’s hands in hers and leaned her forehead in to touch against Belle’s gently.

“Remember what Gold told you.” Ruby whispered softly and Belle smiled wryly.

“Don’t die.”

Ruby freed one hand suddenly and cupped Belle’s face, holding Belle’s chin up so the younger girl was forced to stare into the stylist’s brown eyes.

“Run. Find supplies. _Survive_.” Ruby whispered.

“Survive.” Belle repeated numbly with a stiff nod, her hands trembling in Ruby’s. Silence lapsed between them but Belle took comfort in it, knowing that this was probably the last time she would ever feel any closeness or security again.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Ruby asked gently as she pulled away from Belle and the younger girl looked at her stylist uncertainly before she gave a gentle shake of her head. Ruby watched her thoughtfully for a moment and then spoke up again, her voice guarded for the first time Belle could remember.

“Six years, I’ve been a stylist for District Seven,” Ruby explained, “-and never once have I seen Gold go more than an hour without a drink.” She confessed as her fingers touched lightly on the golden rose that Gold had pinned to Belle. “You’re special, Belle.” She breathed. “We all see it. You _can_ do this.”

“Thirty seconds.” The automated female voice interrupted cheerily, prompting the two women to look up and Belle to tremble violently as she turned to the glass cylinder that stood at the ready, waiting to carry her to the arena.

Still holding tightly to Ruby’s hand, the eighteen year old walked toward the platform, numb as she stepped up onto it.

“Don’t step off the platform early.” Ruby rushed to remind her, fussing one last time with her tribute’s jacket before she finally met Belle’s eyes. 

Belle nodded and as the cylinder door began to slide closed, she released Ruby’s hands and stood tall as the platform slowly began to rise and the stylist was lost to her. The cylinder moved up out of the darkness rapidly and into a near blinding light as the voice of Sidney Glass boomed overhead.

“Welcome everyone to the Hunger Games. Now, ladies and gentlemen – let the games begin!” 


	8. Enter the Arena

Sixty seconds was not a long expanse of time but the sixty seconds the tributes had to stand on the platforms watching the countdown to the beginning of the games, felt like an eternity to Belle. She forced herself to stop shaking, her entire world narrowed down to a pinprick as she watched the seconds tick by on the screen ahead of her.

They were in a dry, sandy area of open land with the sun beating down on them. Belle glanced around critically, fear gnawing at her stomach. Belle didn’t know the desert. She knew trees. Forests. District Seven was specialized in lumber for a reason; deserts and oceans and the like were in short supply.

The desert stretched on for as far as the eye could see to her left. Sweeping to the right though, Belle could make out a distant tree line. It didn’t look like the trees she was used to though; they were thinner and shorter, not exactly ideal. But they were trees.

And all Belle thought was that she might have a chance. If she could get to the trees, she might live out the afternoon.

She prayed that at this moment, her Papa wasn’t watching. She prayed that he was somewhere nice; maybe tending the mayor’s garden as he did from time to time for a few coins. Or maybe eating with Old Miss Lucas. Anything but watching her, here, in this horrible, horrible place.

When the countdown reached forty nine seconds, she glanced to her left and saw, amongst the figures straining forward, Jefferson, his cap skewed at a jaunty angle. He sent her a forced cocky grin but she could tell he felt the tension. They all did.

At least he’d been allowed to keep his cap as his token. She’d heard that the girl from district one had lost her necklace; apparently the innocent looking little blueish white bean charm had contained a single dosage of noxious gas that could have killed a tribute if forced to inhale the fumes.

Thirty two seconds.

Belle looked right and saw the little boy from district eleven. Henry. Her heart went out to him. He looked terrified as he glanced up and down the row of tributes, all older than him, barely more than a month over the age of twelve.

Belle hoped his death was fast and painless. He seemed like such a sweet, innocent boy. He didn’t deserve to suffer. But then, did any of them? They were children, the lot of them. None of them _deserved_ this.

Eighteen seconds.

Her eyes swept over the supplies that littered the area in front of them. Backpacks, weapons, crates of food and unless she was mistaken, there even looked to be a goat in the mouth of the Cornucopia.

Six seconds.

Gold would want her to run, just as they had strategized. Run far and fast for those strange trees and not look back until she’d put as much distance between herself and the careers as possible. He would want her to focus on finding water and shelter and trying to scrounge up some food. Gold would want her to _stay alive_. She gulped back the thought of disobeying him – a fleeting, stupid thought brought on by the wealthy of supplies placed so tauntingly close to them – and focused on what he wanted for her. She had to listen to him. He was the only one who had her back. All the other tributes, the Gamemakers? They were all jockeying to kill her. Even her own judgment on things like tactics within the games was questionable. She was no strategist; that was Gold's forte. So if she couldn't trust her comrades (not even Jefferson) and if she couldn't trust herself that meant she had to trust Gold – only he could help her to help herself now.

The alarm that signaled the start of the game sounded like an explosion as it ripped Belle from her thoughts. The other tributes were off their platforms ahead of her and she cursed herself mentally for letting her guard down. A single lapse in her vigilance could get her killed; she could no longer afford to daydream

Belle leaped forward belatedly and hit the ground running, slipping as the sand seemed to swallow up her feet and hold her back. She could see she wasn’t alone in handling the surface poorly; the little girl, Grace, from District Six was stumbling and tripping all over the place and Belle felt nauseous at the idea of what slowness meant for any of them now.

Fumbling, Belle forced herself onward, cutting a diagonal path across the open area between the tributes and the cornucopia. Already she could see that the careers had reached weapons and the blood bath was beginning. She could feel tears of fear and horror pricking her eyes as she saw the careers from District One team up to take down some of the youngest tributes – the twin siblings from Twelve had both run to the center to grab a backpack of supplies and were now nothing more than target practice for the careers.

But Belle couldn’t help them. She couldn’t help any of them .All she could do was run.

She wasn’t used to running in sand and it slowed her but she was still nearly at the other end of the Cornucopia when she tripped over something half hidden in the sand. Belle looked down and saw a bulky leather bag peeking out from the loose ground. Instinctively, she snatched it up and without bothering to look at the contents, she kept running the hammering of her heart and the sound of her breathing ringing heavy in her ears.

And then, without warning, Belle collided with something firm and once more went tumbling face first to the ground. Spitting out a mouthful of sand she looked up to see two boys; dimly, she recognized one as August, the boy tribute from two and Victor, the boy tribute from five. The pair were fighting violently with swords and already Victor’s arm was bleeding badly. It was August that had bumped her and as they fell in a tumble he lashed out angrily with his weapon and Belle felt a sharp pain in her upper left arm. She cried out and rolled to avoid another attack and scrambled to her feet while Victor pounced at August, driving his sword through the bigger boy’s leg.

Belle didn’t stick around to see which of the two maimed boys won. Instead, she grabbed her bag up and fled for the tree line all the while ignoring the warm trickle of blood seeping down her arm.

Running was a familiar enough action. Belle had run plenty in the woods but never for long distances. Running wasn’t exactly a great way to find game. And so, though she had speed, she lacked endurance. Her legs felt leaden after while, her chest burned and as the adrenaline burned away, she became aware once more of the pain in her arm.

At long last, she stopped to survey her surroundings, slumped against the trunk of one of the scrawny, strange desert trees. The trees themselves were rather short and sparse, offering ample shade now only because they were so closely clumped together. Belle looked at them critically, frowning as she realized none of them would provide decent sleeping places, or even a good spot to hide. They were too short, too easily climbed. Most disappointingly they were too sparse, which made it too easy to spot a person in the branches.

Belle sighed heavily and sunk to the ground with her back against the nearest tree. Peering at the bag in her hands, she finally managed to acknowledge what had given it its odd, bulky shape. A book. Wrenching the book free, she upturned the bag, disappointed to find it contained nothing else. Refocusing on the book, she looked at the cover for the first time.

_"Wilderness Survival for Beginners"_

Well, it sounded promising, if the title was any indication.

Flipping open to the index, she skimmed the chapters, looking for anything that hinted about tending to injuries, or food and water. Already she was regretting not having eaten breakfast, thanks to the persistent gnawing pain in her stomach.

According to the book, she could use leaves to make a poultice and bits of her clothing or larger leaves as bandages. But looking up at the trees overhead, Belle noted that the 'leaves' were far too tiny to be of any use.

Moving her arm, she winced; the cut was deep and needed to be cleaned and properly dressed. It still bled, which when coupled with her exertion and dehydration, probably explained her feeling of light headedness. If she didn’t stop the bleeding soon, she was as good as dead – if infection didn't kill her, her own weakness would make her an easy target.

 Frowning, Belle shrugged out of her jacket and carefully ripped the sleeve on her shirt where August’s blade had already torn it. Ripping the fabric into strips, she tied one of the strips over her wound as tightly as she dared. It was the best she could do for now; she’d have to wait to find water before she could properly clean it.

Since the heat was unbearable, she tied her jacket around her waist, not wanting to wear it but also not about to abandon it altogether. Keenly aware she needed to get up and get moving, Belle stood up to stretch, shaking out the tired muscles of her body before she began to move again, this time at a brisk walk.  

It was an hour later when she felt more than she saw the landscape start to change. The air felt heavier, hotter somehow and she smiled at the familiarity of humidity against her skin. She kept moving, looking for some sort of shift in the vegetation.

She found it roughly fifteen minutes after she noticed the humidity increase.

A new, stranger type of tree had begun to crop up; tall and thin with no branches and then a cluster of giant green leaves unlike any she’d ever seen at the very top. They were interspersed at random until she finally came across a cluster of them so densely woven together, she almost missed the small water hole they were grouped around.

It was no more than three feet across but it was the most beautiful little water hole Belle had ever seen. She slipped between the trunks of the strange, tall trees and knelt to touch the water, delighted by the coolness of the liquid against her skin.

Thirsty as she was though, Belle stared at the water without drinking it, trying to decide what to do.

She had no pot in which to boil it, no tablets with which to purify it. If she drank the water, she was risking all manner of bacteria. Still, the only way she could acquire the supplies she needed would be to go back to the Cornucopia and risk her life with the careers.

Given the choice between bacteria and the careers, she'd take the bacteria.

Bringing her face to the water's surface, she slurped up a mouthful of water, sighing as the cool liquid soothed her throat. She wanted to gulp it all down, as much as she could drink, but if there was bacteria in it, she was best limiting herself to only as much as she needed.

After having slowly drank for a while, Belle decided to tend to her wound. Slowly, she untied the cloth around her wound, wincing in pain as she carefully cleaned the cut and the cloth with water before she tied a fresh strip over the injury. Next she cleaned her hands and face. Then, aware that the cameras were likely on her, she tried not to blush as she slipped off her top and dipped it in her tiny water hole only long enough for the fabric to soak through, then she pulled it back on roughly, sighing delightedly as the cool, wet fabric clung to her and helped bring down her body temperature.

As she tried to rest, she examined the strange trees. They were like nothing she’d ever seen before but they were definitely tree-like. And if they were trees, that made Belle rather confident that the large, green and brown things at the top of these were fruits.

And fruit sounded rather appetizing.

Belle surveyed the trees critically as she tried to work out how she could climb a tree with no branches. It took some time, even for an experienced climber such as herself, but eventually she devised an odd system of alternating her grip between her feet and hands that allowed her to scramble up the tree. After some wrestling, she was able to pull one of the hard fruits off of the tree and survey it. It had three little holes forming a triangle on its exterior and it was greenish in color and incredibly hard. Though she tried and tried to pry it open, she met with no success. Frustrated, she threw the fruit to the ground. It landed holes-first on the rocks below and promptly cracked open into two halves, a whiteish liquid seeping out from it and into the water below.

Surprised, Belle remained in the tree, staring at the fruit.

If it was safe to eat, she had a ready supply. If it wasn’t, she’d just contaminated her water source.

She stripped the tree of its remaining fruits, throwing them more carefully (and more gently) to the ground. She was just about to climb down when suddenly, something shook the tree and a cold, hard object touched her shoulder.

Whatever it was, it looked like an armored spider as it slowly descended the tree, its massive brown body roughly the size of her head, though its many legs made it appear much larger. Oblivious to her, it crawled down the tree and, as she watched, proceeded to the cracked open fruit which it then set about eating.

Belle remained in the tree, more afraid of the giant spider creature than she was of falling. It wasn’t until the creature finished its meal and climbed back up one of the other trees that she shimmied down and stared in awe at the stripped hull of the fruit.

Well, if it was good enough for the spider thing, it was good enough for her.

\-----

By the time darkness fell, she had managed to create a hanging hammock nest of sorts using the strange, massive leaves of the trees, tying them together at the top of the tightly clustered group so that she was not only above potential attackers, but more concealed as well.

Belle had just settled in for the night when music blared across the arena and lights shimmered in the sky as the day's deaths were announced for the remaining tributes to see. She'd lost track of the canon shots over the course of the day and so as the faces of the other children flashed above her, she counted. The boy who'd knocked her over – August, from 2 – was the first to flash across the sky. He was followed by Frederick from 4 and Victor from 5. Grace from 6, Ashley and Thomas from 8, Ariel from 9, Leroy and Astrid from 10. The twin siblings from 12, Hansel and Gretel, were the last to flash across the sky and Belle was left with her head spinning, feeling utterly numb. Eleven dead. Eleven of twenty four. In a single day, they had lost nearly half their number.

Part of her took comfort in having survived at least this day. And another part of her was also comforted in knowing that Jefferson had as well. Still, this meant that the killers of those eleven children were the ones keeping her company in the arena now and that fact gave Belle no small amount of discomfort. So as she laid her head down upon the cool green leaves, it was with the unpleasant knowledge that at any moment, one of those killers might awaken her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: For all those wondering, Belle hasn't ever seen palm trees before and those are the trees she's currently clambering about in. The mystery food is coconuts and her little 'armored spider' friend is actually a coconut crab. =)


	9. Barbed Flower

The morning came crisp and cold, making Belle thankful she'd kept her jacket as she shivered within it and rifled in her backpack from atop her leafy hammock. She had just dug into one of the strange fruits she'd discovered the day before when she heard the sound of voices moving close by beneath her.

It was still partly dark out, a fact for which she was thankful as she fell still, hardly daring to breathe as the sound of the approaching voices signaled her companion's proximity. The pre-dawn darkness would help shield her from searching, murderous eyes.

There was a group of them, she could see them moving down below her. If they had any clue she was up here, they gave no sign of it. They were talking freely, their voices loud enough to carry. She was struck by the stupidity of such an action until her brain caught up to what her eyes were seeing.

_The Careers_.

Of course. The tributes from wealthier districts had a tendency to band together, sometimes admitting individuals from the poorer districts if they showed promise with weapons or something of the like.

Staring hard at their shadowy figures in the dark, Belle tried to make out their faces so she could know just who she was up against.

The tributes from District Three were in the lead, swaggering boldly alongside each other while the girl, Regina, fiddled with a slim black object in her hand that, as Belle watched, buzzed and an arc of hot, white electricity arched between two metal prongs on the black object.  Of course – District Three dealt with Storybrooke's electricity supply. The boy, Daniel, gave a laugh as Regina mimed using the electric prod on someone and then feigned getting shocked, which had her partner hooting in laughter.

Behind them, Belle could see the District One tributes, each carrying weapons slung lazily over their shoulders (the girl, Jacqueline, had a sword, the boy, James, had an axe). Trailing just behind them, Belle recognized the girl from District Five – something 'Ghorm'; Belle couldn't recall her first name but she distinctly remembered the girl from her interview, where she'd charmed everyone with false sweetness and a ridiculous blue dress that Belle had thought looked positively hideous.

It was the person keeping step with the girl from five that made Belle nearly fall out of the tree in surprise.

Jefferson was the last member of the career group, a spear clutched loosely in his hands as he shuffled along with the rest of his group. That he was holding a spear didn't surprise her. And though the fact that he was with the careers was unexpected, it was not earth-shatteringly so (after all, he'd always seemed far better at playing this game than she was). No, the thing that gave Belle a near heart attack was the fact that the spear in Jefferson's hands?

It was bloody.

And really it shouldn't have been shocking. She knew that tributes had died already (nearly half of them). But it was one thing to know it just by seeing their pictures in the sky; it was another matter entirely to see the evidence. And once more,  Belle felt her throat constrict at the idea that before these games were over, she would either be a victim or a murderer herself.

If she had been a fighter, Belle would have laid them out right then and there. It would have been easy if she'd had a bow and arrows. But as it was, Belle did not have a bow and arrows, or a killer instinct. So she clung to her treetop safe haven, waiting for Jefferson and the others to pass her by. It was a good half hour after they'd left before she lowered herself back to the ground, still reeling from what she'd learned.

Cameras were probably on her. And looking concerned probably wasn't going to inspire confidence. But Belle was no actress and hiding her emotions wasn't easy. She _was_ concerned and people were going to know. Gold would just have to try and sell it to the sponsors as wariness or something or the other.

She moved quickly in the opposite direction of the path Jefferson and his group had gone, intent on avoiding them for as long as she possibly could. Belle wanted to avoid _all_ of the tributes for as long as she possibly could.

She'd been hiking no more than an hour when the landscape had begun to change again, becoming dense green shrubs that she had to force her way through, unable to go around and unwilling to turn back and risk running into Jefferson's group. It was a dicey decision; Belle knew there was no way for her to move quietly or secretively through the plants but going back could mean facing Jacqueline's sword or Regina's electrocution prod or Jefferson's bloody spear.

None of those were enticing options.

Having hiked up a slight rise, Belle could see that just beyond, the shrubbery changed again. She paused, trying to see if there was anything edible but if there were fruits or seeds, she didn't see them. She also wasn't seeing any signs of animal life, which didn't bode well for her being able to hunt.

Taking a break, she took out one of the fruits she'd gathered from the tree by the watering hole she'd slept at. The white, fleshy interior was refreshing and by the time she'd finished her snack and licked her fingers clean, she felt much restored.

She spent some time collecting leaves from the shrubs around her, using her survival book to help her identify the plants for her poultice. She crushed them as it instructed, using the milk from the fruit in lieu of water. Using this as a poultice, she tended to her wound, wincing as she applied the goopy substance.

If it did nothing to stave off infection, it at least took some of the pain from her wound, the skin around which had become inflated and hot. The poultice felt cool to the touch and soothed the cracked and blood coated skin around the actual gash. Belle was just finishing up her doctoring when she heard the snap of a booted foot crushing a woody twig.

Springing to attention, Belle was on her feet and running, her bag and book forgotten as she fled from whoever was hunting her. As she lost her footing and fell down the hill's steep slope, she felt something sharp rip through skin just above her right ear. Then she was falling, tumbling down until she rolled to a stop just beneath a bush. She laid there, breathing as quietly as she could manage, hoping that the bush would hide her from the view of whoever it was that had attacked her.

A minute passed and she soon heard light footfalls, expertly stepping on the loose earth. Whoever was after her, he or she was intimately familiar with the outdoors. For a moment, Belle felt indecision rip her apart; did she dare reveal herself and attack, or did she want to chance staying hidden and hope that she wouldn't be seen?

If she didn't attack now, the element of surprise could be lost to her.

_What would Gold tell you to do?_ The thought dawned cool and calm in her mind and before she could reason herself out of it, Belle found herself exploding out from beneath the bush and tackling the owner of the booted feet.

It was a boy, she found, with dark brown hair and wide, soft eyes that grew round in alarm when she tackled him from behind, sending them both tumbling further down the hillside. She scrabbled against the dirt for purchase, finding it eventually and launching herself to her feet, only to find the boy already standing, with one hand grabbing at the quiver on his back for arrows that were no longer there. Blanching, he stared at her for a moment and Belle realized that the arrows which he sought were strewn about behind them where they had fallen from his quiver on his fall down the hillside.

For a heartbeat, the pair just looked at each other, Belle the unquestionably smaller and more fragile on the high ground, and the boy (Graham, her mind supplied breezily) on the low ground.

And then suddenly he was charging her and she found herself throwing her weight at him, able to set him off balance enough that they both went tumbling again. Belle tussled with the boy as they fell, taking a solid blow to the face from his fist. She fell away from him then, dazed, and he was able to gain his footing again, though Belle remained on the ground.

He approached her slowly, staring down at her with sad eyes.

"If you had just held still, I would have made it a swift, clean death." He explained, staring at her with a hard expression. "Now I just have to make do with this." He sighed, brandishing the bow in his hands as if to strike her. "I'm sorry." He said and Belle felt her gut clench at the sincerity of his words. As he drew near enough though, Belle remembered the hand to hand combat instruction she'd received in the training center, the instructor's words ringing in her head. _Angles are important; use the right one to make your small size largely effective_.

With all the strength she could muster, Belle pulled her feet together and gave a rough kick, catching Graham square in the gut and sending him reeling backwards. A single, sharp cry followed and then there was silence for several heartbeats.

The sound of the cannon going off made Belle jump, half expecting Graham to pounce on her and bludgeon her to death with his bow. But when she pulled herself onto her feet, Belle saw the boy's figure, prostrate on the branches of the plant he'd fallen on, its thorns dripping with the toxic liquid that had contributed to his demise.

"Nightshade." Belle exhaled raggedly, turning her eyes away from the sight of Graham's unseeing eyes, frozen open in shock and pain. The world seemed to spin and she clutched her stomach as she retched, the reality of what she'd done striking her hard.

Graham was dead. She had killed him by kicking him into the single most deadly plant known to man. She had seen the thorn that had killed him; a great long, menacing thing that had pierced his chest right where his heart would have been. And he had died. Because of her. Somewhere in the districts, his parents were in mourning now. Did he have a sibling, keening in emotional pain? Did Graham have a mother weeping in the town square as the Capitol blasted the image of his lifeless body for all to see?

"I'm sorry." She breathed, choking on the sobs that wracked her small frame. "I-I'm so, so sorry."

She lay curled in a ball for some time, too agonized over the blood on her hands to take stock of her own wounds. It was only the sound of the drones coming to collect his body that made her rise, a sudden thought occurring to her.

_The bow_.

Belle went to his corpse slowly, shuddering as she looked at the thorn protruding from his chest, the blood on his clothes mingling with the dark poison from the plant. With ginger movements, she removed the bow from his hands and the quiver from his back, getting so close to the thorns that one actually sliced open her jacket, just narrowly missing her skin.

_Too close_. She needed to get away from here, and fast. This was the last place she wanted to find herself pinned down if she ran into the careers. Unlike Graham, who had claimed to have wanted to give her a clean death, the careers would make her linger in agony and a slow death by Nightshade poisoning would probably serve as entertainment for them.

Scrambling back from the tangle of deadly thorns, Belle turned to stare at him one final time, remorse written across her features.

"I'm sorry, Graham." She said softly, closing her eyes and breathing deeply as her fingers brushed against his face, closing his eyelids over his once bright blue eyes, now glazed and dull in death.

So much for being the girl to inspire hope. If anyone had looked to her for such a thing, surely they were shaking their heads and staring at her in disgust now, Belle thought with some small measure of sadness. She hadn't wanted to become a monster in these games and now? Now she had become exactly that. Some Rose Girl she was proving to be. But roses had thorns, she reminded herself. And she had begun to grow hers, it seemed.

With slow steps, she labored back up the steep hillside, collecting the stray arrows that had fallen from Graham's quiver during their short-lived fight and tumble. The whole ordeal had ripped open her freshly doctored left arm wound, and had earned her a swollen face and plenty of small cuts and scrapes. But it had also given her a weapon.

As she crested the hill and collected her forgotten book, bag, and the remainder of her fruit, Belle felt one thing echoing loudly in her mind.

She wasn't so defenseless anymore.  


	10. Blazing

Disoriented, bruised, bloodied, and utterly exhausted, Belle had staggered along in a different direction, moving away from the Nightshade grove and away from the direction Jefferson and the careers had gone. She was making horrible time and Belle knew even a beginner at tracking could probably follow her shuffling steps as her feet dragged in the muddy earth, leaving a trail plain as day. But she was _so tired_ – physically and mentally – it was difficult to summon the energy to life her feet any higher than strictly necessary.

It was growing dark fast and Belle still hadn't had anything to drink or eat besides the fruit and the fruit's milk she'd had earlier. It wasn't very substantial and she found herself feeling more and more lightheaded. The wound she'd suffered from Graham's arrow grazing her head probably wasn't helping matters either, nor was her wounded left arm or her swollen face.

As walking became increasingly difficult in the mud, she was forced to slow down as the thick, dark earth tried to swallow up her feet with each step. Dimly, alarms began to go off in her head that she should try to find a different path but she was quickly running out of places to run to that she hadn't already discredited as possible safe zones.

By the time she found a tree (this one unlike any she had ever seen before, with large, gnarled roots that rose well above ground and tangled around each other and with thin, trailing, almost ropelike branches), she was so tired she thought she might fall over. She had enough presence of mind not to fall asleep on the roots in plain sight and slowly pulled herself up to the lowest branches, collapsing onto them and falling quickly to sleep, using her quiver as a pillow with the bow slung round her arm.

\-----

She awoke to the smell of smoke and sat bolt upright. Her head ached and her lips felt dry and cracked but it was the smoke smell that had her concerned. Smoke meant fire. Fire, in a district that so heavily relied on timber, was a death sentence. Fire was _fear_ for the people of District Seven.

Looking around wildly, her eyes latched onto the dancing orange and red flames and she had nearly dropped out of the tree to run away when Belle realized something. The flames were not advancing toward her, were not devouring tree trunks and limbs for fuel. The fire was stationary.

Someone had set it. It was a campfire. There were _tributes_ nearby.

Freezing, she tried to focus her still bleary eyes on the fire and as she did, the figures around it began to take shape. Her heart nearly stopped when she realized what she was looking at.

The careers, ever confident in their own strength and fearing no attack, had boldly started their own fire, upon which to roast what looked like a bird of some sort. They were lying around it lazily, sprawled out with no sign of tension or wariness in their bodies. These games were theirs for the taking and they knew it, it seemed.

Belle felt like a pheasant staring down the jaws of a fox. Here she was, up a tree not fifty feet from the very people looking to kill her, weak, injured, with no food or water to sustain her if she tried to wait the careers out. And yet, if she dared try to flee to save herself, she would draw their attention. But staying meant risking worse dehydration than she was already experiencing, which could leave her equally if not more vulnerable. If she ran now, while she still had energy, maybe she'd have a chance.

Or maybe not.

Clutching the trunk of the tree uneasily, Belle stared at the figure she recognized as Jefferson, his hat placed over his face to help him fall asleep now having fallen slightly to the side, revealing his closed eyes.

"What do you think?"

She blanched at the sound of their voices, seeming so close. _Too close_.

It had been Daniel that had spoken, nudging Regina who was sitting right beside him, poking at the fire with a stick. When she looked at him, he jutted his chin out in Jefferson's direction and Regina scoffed.

"Useless. But we knew that." She remarked, shaking her head. "We use him to find little miss 'ten' and then." She smirked, dragging her hand across her throat pointedly. Daniel gave a short nod.

"No sign of her yet. You really think those tracks we're following are hers?"

"Does it matter? I don't care if they're hers, or that blonde hag from District Four. Whoever it is, we'll find them and we'll kill them. It's as simple as that." She finished with a huff and Daniel frowned for a moment and then nodded.

"Personally, I hope it is her." Another voice came from across the fire; Jacqueline, Belle noted carefully. "She didn't do anything except that stupid hand to hand combat station during training and you're telling me they ranked her a ten? Gimme a break." The girl snorted, pulling a sword from beside her. "Nothing she did with her two bare hands should have been worth a better score than what I'm capable of with this little beauty." The girl declared, demonstrating with a sudden, powerful swing that lopped one hunk of firewod cleanly in two.

"She'll get hers, don't worry." James piped up, folding his arms in determination as he stared at Jefferson's sleeping figure across the fire. "And we can make sure lover boy gets a front row seat to watch."

Belle shivered and drew nearer to the trunk of the tree, clutching at it for dear life. They were hunting her. And what's worse? They were laughing at the idea of making Jefferson, who was supposedly in love with her, watch as they did it. As she watched, she thought she saw Jefferson's sleeping form twitch slightly but after staring at him for a minute with no signs of movement, she decided she must have imagined it. He was sleeping through the sound of his 'allies' plotting.

Her brain raced as she frantically tried to think of some way of saving herself. If they had been tracking her, they had clearly stopped just short of the end of her trail. If they continued to follow it come morning, it would undoubtedly lead them straight to the tree she now occupied. This meant Belle had only a few hours to figure out a way to save her skin, or she was as good as dead.

For at least an hour, she sat motionless, contemplating her options. The tree she now occupied grew close to its neighbors. In theory, she could climb out onto its branches and onto the next tree, and thusly go from tree to tree, never touching the ground. But doing so would not be stealthy by any means. She'd very easily make too much noise and bring the whole pack of careers crashing down on her.

She could try shooting them with her arrows from here. Even in the dark, she could make out their forms easily enough by the firelight. But after the first arrow was shot, she'd lose her element of surprise and there was no guarantee she'd make her mark. She could possibly end up just incensing them into giving her a more drawn out and painful death than whatever they had imagined for her currently. And besides, Belle really didn't think she had it in her to murder five people in cold blood.

And she _knew_ she didn't have it in her to kill Jefferson. That much, she was certain of.

It was as she was trying to figure out if she could possibly climb down the tree and trek through the mud without leaving a trail that she saw it. Carried down as if on a breeze, coming straight towards her current hiding place, the small parachute that bore a gift.

A gift from Gold. Which was really a gift from sponsors.

She had sponsors?

She had sponsors!

Reaching out with shaking fingers, she grabbed up the parachute and pulled it to her chest, cradling it there like an infant until she had settled back against the tree trunk. Prying open the box attached to the parachute, Belle sucked in a breath.

There was a small bottle, which she pulled out and opened, putting it to her lips and delighting in the fresh, cool water that washed down her throat. Hydration; apparently Gold had known just how desperate she'd been for water. Looking up to the night sky, Belle felt certain that there must be a camera on her, so she smiled appreciatively and then looked back to the package.

Beneath the bottle, there was another, smaller container and atop it there was a small piece of paper. Plucking it up, Belle tried to catch the moonlight so she could read the words written on the paper, her eyes widening as she made sense of Gold's messy scrawl.

_"Fight fire with fire. Just like at the training center."_

Frowning, Belle looked again at the small container and then gingerly pried it open, taking a whiff of the contents before recognition dawned on her and with it, understanding.

Gold had sent her a container of paste similar to what she'd mixed when she'd been tested for her training score. The same, flammable paste that Belle had painted on the floor and lit on fire to create her burning rose effigy. Unlike her paste, the liquid was much thinner – more expertly made, she'd wager – and it was attached to a small topper that would allow her to spray it like a fine mist.

Fight fire with fire… Looking up, she saw the careers fire still flickering, though by now they had all dropped off to sleep, save for the girl from District Five. Reul Ghorm. She was sitting now, half slumped against the roots of a nearby tree, looking at the fire in boredom with a spear slung lazily over her shoulder.

If Belle could spray a circle of paste around the Careers without Reul seeing her, and if she could light the paste on fire, she'd successfully trap the Careers, thus buying her time to escape.

It was gutsy, the sort of plan Belle would never have come up with on her own. But when presented with the means to enact such a plan thanks to Gold's careful bargaining and encouraging of her apparent sponsors, Belle knew it must be her best shot at escape, otherwise Gold would not have wasted precious sponsorship money on procuring the supplies for her.

She waited another half hour, until it looked as though Reul had dozed off before she made her move. Dropping carefully to the ground, Belle straightened and waited to see if her movements had awoken anyone but if they had, there was no outward sign of it amongst the careers. Moving as quietly as she could manage in the deep mud, Belle sent a mental thank you to Gold for having gotten her water, without which she knew she would have been too exhausted to enact this plan. Already, she felt better for having drank the entire bottle.

Stealing closer to the fire, she gave a small test spray to see how loud it would be, pleased when she discovered the sprayer was practically silent. Moving with slow, intentional motions, Belle began to spray the flammable paste around the careers' camp, generously applying the stuff in a very wide circle – she didn't want her flame circle to be easy to escape, after all.

When at last she'd completed the circle, she looped back around, spraying further and further out until she had a nearly six foot wide circle painted around the careers. She hadn't dared venture too close to them during her painting, ensuring that she maintained at least several yards' distance from them at all times. But now came the truly scary part; she'd have to use their own campfire against them.

Summoning a deep breath, Belle ensured that her supplies were firmly attached to her; her quiver was secure on her back, her bag with the book and her parachute supplies was slung over one shoulder, her bow over the other. The spray bottle of paste was clutched firmly in her hands. All she had to do now was run through the careers' camp while spraying the paste and connect their fire with the circle she'd made around them. And hopefully, if she ran fast enough, she'd outrun the fire as it lit up the flammable paste and trapped her enemies.

Belle lowered herself to the ground, ensuring that she would have a good spot to take off from with plenty of traction. This done, she couldn't help but look at the sleeping figures of the careers, her eyes lingering over Jefferson morosely.

She wasn't killing them, she reminded herself, just trapping them so she could escape. Trapping them… with fire…intentionally.

 _Monster_. Her conscious screamed, decrying the actions she was about to take.

 _Survivor_. Her self-preservation instincts answered, and for whatever reason it was Gold's voice that she heard in that moment. _Don't die_.

"I'm trying not to." She mumbled lowly, her fingers digging into her palms as she steadied herself one last time.

And then, with a sudden tightening of her muscles, Belle felt her body coil and then spring as she launched herself towards the camp fire, spraying the flammable paste as she went.

A great many things seemed to happen at once. As she reached the campfire and the paste spray caught fire, Belle felt hot flames leap into the air, searing her hands where the fire licked at the fingers that clutched the spray bottle. Behind her, a sudden orange glow bloomed and she ran on, seeing walls of flame erupt up in her peripheral vision. She had managed to clear the fire circle a few seconds before the fire roared up, sealing the careers in a circle of flame, just as Belle – or rather, Gold – had hoped. With a sharp toss, Belle threw the bottle back towards the camp, where she heard the bottle break apart, no doubt sending flammable liquid flying every which way. A moment after the shattering sound, there came a great scream which was followed by others but Belle was already running, intent on leaving the Career camp far behind her.

As she ran though, Belle became aware of a sharp pain. It wasn't localized to a single body part but rather, was spread across her entire right side. As the mud became too much to run in, she spotted standing water and ran for it, hoping to obscure her trail and thus, shake any careers that might come tracking her after her attack on them. But as she splashed along the shallow river, Belle felt the pain intensify.

Stopping at last, she tried to take stock of her injuries, passing a hand over her right arm and wincing suddenly.

The fire had burned away her jacket up to the elbow and the skin of her arm here was blistered, painful, and oozing. She could see that the flames had licked up along her right side, leaving a trail of blisters and sore skin in their wake, not to mention creating large burn holes in her clothing.

As the adrenaline burned out of her system, Belle felt dizzied with pain and the world began to spin. Her last coherent thought was that if she collapsed here, she very well might drown to death before another tribute found her. And then, before she had a chance to do anything more than stagger toward the riverbank, Belle passed out.


	11. Two Is Better Than One

_She was back in the Capitol, at the tribute center, curled up in her bed and nestled beneath layers of silk sheets that were probably worth more than what a lead climber in District Seven could earn in a year. Despite the luxurious fabrics she was curled up in, she felt cold and a shiver passed over her body. As her teeth began to chatter though, something warm settled on the bed beside her._

_Instinctively, she turned towards the source of warmth, only to discover that it was not a 'something' but rather a 'someone' that had come to chase the cold from her bed._

_Gold sat propped up on the pillows beside her, his arm draped over her tenderly. Despite her confusion as to what he was doing in her bed, Belle cuddled up against him, pillowing her head on his chest and exhaling contentedly as a sense of peace and safety enveloped her as the familiar smell she'd come to associate with him entered her nostrils. A contented sound escaped her and despite herself, she splayed a palm across his chest, feeling the warmth his body gave off even through his shirt._

_At their sudden closeness, she felt him stir beside her as if to go and she didn't choke back the soft cry that the thought of him departing elicited._

_"Don't leave me, please." She requested of him urgently and she felt him fall still and then nod. His fingers began tracing soft circles on the bare skin of her arms as he lowered his lips to her ear, his breath washing over her with the smell of cinnamon and honey – he must have been drinking tea, she thought lazily._

_"Never, little rose."_ _He purred and she curled against him, lifting her head so that her lips were nearly level with his. His eyes met hers and she felt his arm encircle her waist, closing the small gap between their bodies so that she was flush against him. Her heart was flopping about in her chest but she was too enthralled by the sight of him, lazy and happy and so very close that she didn't care. Instead, she lifted her face to his and her top lip brushed against his lower lip-_

She woke with a start, her eyes snapping open and swinging wildly around her surroundings, finding herself not in the tribute center with Gold, but rather, in a crudely designed shelter of branches and mud on three sides, with a boulder creating the fourth wall of the small refuge.

It was only after she'd gained her bearings (somewhat) that she realized that the source of warmth from her dreams hadn't been purely fabrication after all. Nestled against her side was a small boy, his dark hair mussed and dark circles under his still closed eyes. His arm was slung over her side, as if he were hugging her in his sleep.

 _Henry_. She distantly recognized the little boy from District Eleven, for whom she had silently mourned at the beginning of the games, convinced he wouldn't last a day.

Well. Apparently she'd been wrong to assume that.

Looking around, she could see her bag, the leather binding of her book just peeking out of it. There was no sign of the quiver she'd taken from Graham though, or of the bow or arrows. Belle had no idea where they might be, let alone where _she_ was. She could see dim rays of light shining through small cracks here and there in the shelter walls and ceiling. If she had to guess, she'd say it was early morning. How long had she been out? A day? Three? She wasn't sure.

Stretching in place, Belle took stock of her body, her memory returning to her of the injuries she'd sustained from the fire. Looking down at her right arm though, she saw it had been covered in a tar-like black poultice but as she flexed her fingers and moved her arm, she was surprised to find that she wasn't in pain. Whatever kind of poultice this way, it seemed like it was helping her to heal.

The swelling on her face had gone down and after examining herself with careful fingers, Belle determined that the same poultice had been applied to the arrow wound on her head, as well as the knife would on her left arm.

Why on earth would this little boy have taken pity on her? And what's more, even if he hadn't had the stomach to kill her, why had he gone out of his way to _save_ her? It didn't make any sense and yet, Belle had no doubt that whatever his motives were, they were pure.

Beside her, the young boy stirred and rolled closer to her, his small frame pressed against her side, apparently seeking whatever warmth she had to offer. And for good reason; Belle could tell that the temperature had dropped pretty substantially.

Extracting herself from Henry, she grabbed up her bag, opting to leave the book behind as she quietly left the little lean-to. Taking a deep breath of the pre-dawn air, she looked around and tried to get her bearings, surprised to see that she still recognized the landscape; wherever Henry had dragged her to, it wasn't too terribly distant from where the careers had made camp.

 _The careers._ Belle gave an involuntary shiver as she thought of the six of them, wondering if they were still alive, or if they'd been devoured by the fire she'd started. Looking at the still half dark sky, she could just make out a dark smudge of smoke in the air; the fire was still burning.

Though she was afraid to return to the scene of her pyrotechnics, Belle knew that there was a possibility she'd be able to scavenge supplies from the remains of the career camp, if anything had been left untouched by the fire. And at the very least, she could look for something to eat along the way.

Giving another, long look to the shelter, she tried to commit its location to memory and then, her empty pack slung over her shoulder, she struck off in the direction of the smoke that must be the remains of the career camp.

It was not a long trek but Belle took a long time to cover the ground, between the pain she felt from her wounds (far less pain than she'd been in before but still enough to slow her up) and her own cautiousness, she made poor time. She was intentionally climbing up into the trees and climbing among the branches from tree to tree in places where the dirt turned to mud that would create too obvious a trail. She'd made that mistake once and it had nearly gotten her killed; she wouldn't allow the careers to track her so easily again.

She was still in the trees when the charred remains of the career camp came into view. A large area of foliage had been burned; she could still see a few fallen trees burning and smoldering near the edge of the burn region. That would explain the smoke she'd followed.  Looking around, Belle saw no sign of other tributes but she could see signs of where they'd gone.

The earth had been churned up badly by their feet as they had fled the fire and here and there she could see spots that looked like there had been a scuffle – perhaps someone had fallen here, or tried to roll and smother out the flames there. She wasn't good enough at tracking to read the trail with any certainty but to her eyes, it looked as though the careers had gone in the direction opposite of the lean-to Henry had built. That, at least, was good news. Despite the poultices Henry had applied (which she was still wearing, she realized with a start), Belle was hardly in any condition to fight off an attack from angry, singed tributes. If they'd gone in the opposite direction, that would buy her and Henry some time. But then again, she wasn't sure how long she'd been passed out for; it could be that the careers were already on their way back, seeking vengeance.

She dropped lightly to the ground when she was sure the area was empty and began to scavenge about in the blackened earth. Her efforts were rewarded when she came up with a metal canister which, upon opening, she found was filled with water, a small knife, which she quickly pocketed, and her final discovery in the remains of what had once been the careers fire – a small pot that was filled with (now overcooked) meat; bird, if she wasn't mistaken, though what kind she hadn't a clue.

Stuffing her discoveries into her bag, Belle made her way back in the direction from which she'd come, stopping often to ensure that she wasn't being followed. As she neared the small shelter she'd awoken in, she realized that, although she had taken it for granted that he would be her ally, she hadn't yet spoken to Henry; she had no way of knowing if he would team up with her or if he was even still in the shelter. It could very easily be that he'd awoken, discovered her gone, and simply left. Her stomach flipped at the idea; even though he'd survived this long, she didn't like the idea of the small boy on his own in an arena with the likes of Regina and Reul Ghorm.

Had Belle not intentionally looked at the shelter and its surroundings, she knew she would have passed by it. Built between the boulders as it was, it was easily overlooked, even by watchful eyes, for it blended in well with the scenery. Belle had nearly passed by it before she realized she'd reached it. Clearing her throat, she spoke softly, not wanting to startle the boy.

"H-Henry? It's me… um. Belle?" She offered, realizing the boy might not know her name. It was entirely possible he hadn't been coached about the other tributes by his mentor. After all, most people knew that young tributes were just fodder for the games, so she could easily believe that his mentor might have bypassed trying to help Henry at all. If that was the case, the young boy might not have studied his opponents as Belle had, and might not have learned their names.

"The um… the girl you saved?" She added as an afterthought, setting down her pack and raising her hands as if in surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you, I swear. I went to scavenge supplies, that's all." She explained in a low voice, kicking her pack forward with her toe while keeping her hands raised. When no movement or noise met her actions, she frowned.

"I'm going to come into the shelter now. I have food." She offered, hoping the boy would believe her. Hesitating only for a moment, Belle scooted inside the shelter, blinking as her eyes tried to adjust to the dark. After a moment, she realized why Henry hadn't answered her.

He wasn't here.

Belle felt her heart drop, in part because she really didn’t want that sweetheart of a boy to run into trouble and in part because she had been expecting company. After days on her own, except for her brief scuffles, Belle found she was craving company – certainly that was why she had dreamed of Gold and why her heart had fallen to find herself alone.

She missed being in the company of other people. Particularly people who weren't trying to kill her.

Sighing, she settled down and went through her supplies once again, carefully meting out what little she had to eat and drink. Despite his absence, she allotted half of her materials for Henry, in case he returned. That done, she looked around, pleased to see that Henry had not taken her survival book, and pulled it into her lap, using one of the rays of light peeking in from the shelter's roof to illuminate the pages so she could read whilst she nibbled at the overcooked meat she'd plucked from the careers' old fire.

It was as she alternated between reading and eating that she heard soft footsteps outside the shelter only a moment before a small, dark haired head popped back into the shelter, a look of surprise on Henry's face when he saw her. He froze, half in the shelter and half out as he regarded Belle and she regarded him.

"Wait!" She threw up a hand to halt him before he could retreat, raising both of her hands once more in an act of surrender. "I won't hurt you!" She exclaimed, the book tumbling out of her lap as she rose into a crouch, carefully extracting the knife she'd taken from the career camp out of her pocket and tossing it to his feet. "I'm unarmed." She explained, keeping her hands raised. "I don't want to hurt you. I want to thank you." She assured him, gently nudging the pot of meat towards him. "You saved me. Please, eat."

The boy was silent, regarding her with wide eyes. After a long pause, he picked up the knife and turned it over in his hands, staring hard at the blade. When at last his gaze returned to her, he turned the knife over in his hand as if in thought.

"You didn’t have this on you before." He stated knowingly and Belle couldn't help but chuckle.

"No, I didn't."

"Where'd you get it?" He inquired brightly, grabbing the blade by the handle and stabbing it into the ground as he sat down alongside her, keeping Belle on his right side and the blade on his left.

"The careers made camp not too far from here… I sort of set it on fire before-" she motioned with her hand to their present surroundings and continued. "I went back to see if I could recover anything from the wreckage."

A heartbeat of silence and then…

"That was pretty smart."

Belle broke out into a wide smile and slowly moved to grab the metal canister of water, offering it to Henry. He took it, looking at her quizzically.

"My scavenging paid off." She grinned. "Go ahead, drink up."

He wasted no time in doing so and in short order Belle was passing him the meat and they both set about eating it in companionable silence.

Henry reminded her distantly of a younger version of David; he was quite capable from what Belle had seen, trustworthy and incredibly sweet. All things which only made his presence in the arena all the crueler in Belle’s mind.

Still, he’d made it this far, outlasting all of the other children his age and plenty who were older than him. If the Careers could team up against everyone else, then she could certainly team up with Henry. Honestly, she couldn’t think of a better partner to have in these games than him. As they neared the end of the meat, Belle watched Henry, who had thus far devoured every morsel he'd touched, picking the bones clean and cracking them open for marrow.

Here was clearly a child that was well acquainted with hunger and not just in these games. Belle knew that feeling well; she'd felt it herself many a time after her mother had died and income was scarce. She'd seen it still more, all throughout the district. Hunger was nothing foreign to her and it was clearly not foreign to Henry.

“Go ahead, finish it off.” Belle offered, pushing the remainder of the meat in his direction.

“You mean I can have _all of this_?!” He asked incredulously and Belle felt a pang as she realized that the poor boy had probably never had so much to eat in one sitting in all his life. District Eleven was, after all, one of the poorest districts in all of Storybrooke.

“Yes, you can have all of it.” Belle smiled brightly as she watched the boy hungrily tear into the meat. When he’d finished, they split the berries he had collected while he'd been out. Even then, Henry licked at the juice that remained on his fingers and only when his hands were clean did the boy lean back on the boulder of their shelter.

“That was really good.” He grinned and Belle felt her face mirroring his.

“Oh yeah? Well, let’s see if we can make a habit out of it, okay? You forage, I hunt. And we both watch each other’s backs against the careers. Sound good?” She asked and the boy nodded enthusiastically at her, then stopped and held out his hand. Belle stared at his palm, her brows raised.

“We have to shake on it.” Henry explained to her. “Then it’s a deal. No backing out.” He warned seriously. Belle nodded solemnly, biting back a smile as she took his hand and he shook hers emphatically.

“Deal.” Belle murmured, and she didn't think she'd ever made a better deal in her life. Grinning widely at her Henry suddenly scrambled up and out of the shelter, only to return a minute later.

"If you're going to hunt, you're going to need these." He said, holding out before him the quiver of arrows and bow that Belle had taken from Graham. Staring at him in surprise, her mouth agape, Belle slowly accepted the weapons from him, the feel of the bow in her hand and the weight of the quiver on her back making her feel safer instantly.

"Henry, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful alliance." Belle mused with a smile which the young boy mirrored. And for the first time since she'd entered the arena, Belle didn't feel so truly alone. She had Henry to help watch her back and she knew without a shadow of doubt in her heart that Gold was out there somewhere, watching her back, front, sides, and every which way, doing his damndest to keep her alive.

And really, that was all a girl in her position could ask for.

\-----

They hiked that afternoon, away from the stream where Henry had dragged her while unconscious, and up to the rocky outcropping that he’d been using as a place to hide. Belle had to hand it to him; the rock face wasn’t as difficult as climbing a tall tree but it was certainly difficult enough to require skill and that was enough to discourage most of the careers from climbing it just to search for either herself or Henry. It was as good a place as they could hope for to spend the night in.

"So…. Henry?" Belle began, casting a glance at him over her shoulder as she helped him shell some small nuts that they had found on their trek to the cave.

"Hmm?" He responded, focused on a particularly difficult nut.

"Did any of the-… I mean, how many of us are um… y'know. _Left_?" She asked, staring at him intently over the cracked open shells they'd tossed aside. Pausing in his work, Henry pondered for a moment.

"Well, there was the boy from six – but that was before I found you." He explained and Belle shivered. _Graham_. Nodding at him to continue, Henry popped a nut into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before he continued. "Then there was the girl from one," _Jacqueline_ , Belle thought, her stomach twisting uncertainly. The fire Belle had started had probably killed her then. Guilt washed over her but it was followed by a sense of selfish relief; Jacqueline had seemed only all too eager to prove she was deserving of a training score higher than Belle's ten. Her death was probably good for Belle's own well-being, selfish though it was to think. "Oh, and that boy from three. They were both the night that I found you, but the boy from three was a couple hours after the girl from one." Henry offered and Belle nodded numbly.

The boy from three. _Daniel_. She remembered him speaking with his district partner, Regina, over the fire. He had certainly seemed like the lesser evil of the two. Had she been responsible for his demise too? Henry had said he'd died after Jacqueline. It was entirely possible that the careers, in their mad dash for cover from the fire, had gotten into a scuffle with other tributes and Daniel had been lost.

 _Or_ -

It was possible that the fire she'd started had claimed Jacqueline right away and had badly maimed Daniel, leaving him to suffer until he finally died some time later. For his sake, Belle certainly hoped that had not been the case.

"I see… So we're down to what…. Ten?" She asked and Henry shook his head.

"Nine; a cannon went off this morning while you were sleeping. I guess we'll find out who it was tonight." Henry filled her in and Belle shivered. Nine tributes out of the original twenty four; in truth, Belle hadn't expected herself to last this long. With over half of the tributes gone, the possibility of surviving the games wasn't so impossible. At least a third of the career pack was gone; if she and Henry could avoid the remaining few for the rest of the games, perhaps they could outlast them and be the last two standing-

Belle felt a sudden wave of nausea at the idea; though hopeful at first, the notion of being the last two standing with little Henry was dreadful. She couldn't let the boy kill her – she didn't want him to carry that kind of weight for the rest of his life. So that would mean…. She'd have to do herself in.

Feeling suddenly cold, Belle finished shelling the nuts they'd collected and told Henry to eat the lot, her appetite suddenly vanished. Even when the music played and the day's death was projected into the sky, Belle didn't move to look, instead relying on Henry, who ducked out of the cave and returned to inform her that the girl from District Five had died. ( _Reul Ghorm; another career_ – her brain supplied almost automatically).

The little cave was small but cozy and as the light disappeared and the temperatures predictably dropped, Belle found Henry cuddling against her for warmth. Eventually, she rolled onto her side and draped a protective arm over him, pressing him tight against her body. As she did, the boy sighed and snuggled close, his nose pressed to her neck as he slept.

In that moment, with Henry pressed against her body, Belle knew what a mother’s love felt like. She knew that, were a tribute to spring at them and threaten Henry’s life and not her own, she would still risk life and limb to protect him.

That being the case though, Belle felt herself nearly suffocate as she bit back a sob at the notion that the two of them would never make it out of these games alive. Maybe one of them - if they were insanely fortunate - but never both of them.

 _If it can only be one of us, I have to make sure it's him_. She thought to herself with determination, biting her lower lip to keep from crying. Accepting one's own death was not an easy thing but Belle was fairly certain she could accept dying if doing so would mean that the innocent little boy at her side could live. He was so small and so young, so innocent and sweet. He deserved far, far better than these games. And Belle knew it was up to her that he got it; she needed to protect him, at all costs.

 _The nightshade_. If somehow, by some miracle, they really did end up the last two standing, Belle would have to poison herself with the nightshade. She doubted she could pierce her own heart with it – she wasn't made of _that_ tough of stuff. But she felt reasonably confident that she could stab herself in the shoulder, or even just prick her hand. It would be a slow death and a painful one, but it would spare Henry the brutality of having to murder her. And if it meant that he could live? Well, Belle could accept that as a worthy cause to die for.

With such dark thoughts on her mind she found sleep difficult to come by but eventually the comfort of having Henry nestled against her lulled her into the most restful sleep she’d gotten since entering the arena. When she awoke the next morning, Henry was already up and arranging the berries, nuts, and flowers he’d scavenged while she slept.

“How long has the sun been up?” Belle asked as she stretched, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. Henry looked at her and then at the mouth of the cave and shrugged.

“An hour and a half or so? I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. Look, I found some food! And these wildflowers? They’re edible. They don’t taste very good but it’s something.” He shrugged as he looked at her hopefully and Belle flashed him an approving smile.

“You’re putting me to shame, Henry. I haven’t done a thing and you’ve already found breakfast.” She mused and he blushed in the face of her praise. Clearly he was unaccustomed to such kind words. Belle ruffled his hair and moved to sit next to him. “You should wake me up before you go next time though; safety in numbers and all that, right?" She murmured and he ducked his head shyly and nodded.

"I didn't want to wake you. You seemed like you were having a good dream."

 _Huh_? She couldn't remember dreaming anything last night. And if she had dreamed, she doubted it would have been pleasant, given how dark her thoughts had been the night before.

"Is that so?" She inquired and he nodded, mumbling through a mouth filled with the wildflowers he'd just shown her.

"Mmhmm. You kept smiling. And you said something about 'roses'."


	12. Consumed

Henry was resourceful, Belle learned quickly. Not only had he managed to get her to safety after her encounter with the Careers, he had helped with her wounds and was plenty capable of tracking down food. Granted, Henry’s specialty was in edible plants but between the two of them, Belle figured they could eat pretty well.

She was certain Gold wouldn't approve of her choosing Henry as an ally, but there was no denying the results of their partnership. In a few short days of partnering together, they had eaten decently, avoided the Careers (and all the other Tributes) and managed to heal Belle's wounds.

Not bad, in her book.

On their third day of being allies, Belle had resolved to try and teach Henry how to shoot with her bow and arrows, lest she be felled and he need a weapon to protect himself. Marching out of their cave at sunup, as had become their routine, they scavenged for food – Henry found a type of tuber that tasted passably good and Belle found a bird's nest containing eggs. Breakfast thus tended to, they had chosen a nice clearing for their target practice and Belle had used her knife to carve a rudimentary bullseye onto a tree trunk.

It had been slow going trying to teach Henry to shoot; in truth, he was much to small to comfortably use a bow and arrow of the size that Belle was using but they would have to make do. After an hour of coaching, he had finally hit the tree, albeit a foot above the actual target. Still, they had counted it a victory and after another two hours, Henry was hitting the tree in roughly the area of the target more often than he was missing completely.

It was going to have to do for now.

"You know, we could use this to our advantage." Henry reasoned, waggling the arrow in his hand before her face with a smile. Laughing, Belle batted the arrow away and looked at him, his eyes bright with mischief.

"Oh yeah? What have you got up your sleeves, hmm?" She inquired, poking him once in the stomach in a way that clearly threatened additional, tickling pokes might follow if he didn't tell her what he was thinking.

"I was thinking about how you escaped from the Careers, before I found you. If we lured them to a fake camp, we could make a ring of flammable paste again and use an arrow to light it. Just set the arrow on fire before you shoot it and then, bam! Instant trap!" Henry exclaimed, clapping his hands together emphatically.

Belle's expression had grown more serious, her stomach rolling a little at how efficient a plan Henry had concocted. Twelve years old and he was already showing skill at coming up with plans to effectively kill people. If she had needed reminding of the brutality of the games, she had found it here, in this moment.

"That's actually a pretty genius plan, Henry. But how would we lure them to us without risking our own necks, hmm?" She inquired, half hoping he wouldn't be able to come up with an answer so they wouldn't have to enact his plan.

Belle didn't want more blood on her hands. There was already plenty.

"Oh that's easy; we could set a fire in the middle of the day. The smoke should bring them, don't you think?"

Hesitating a moment, Belle swallowed and nodded in agreement.

"Yeah Henry I ah… I think that would…"

"You know what's really great about the plan?" Henry pressed and Belle fought to act as enthused as Henry seemed to be, though she was pretty sure the end result was far from ecstatic.

"What's that?"

"It involves fire! It's kinda becoming your signature thing." Henry beamed and at this, Belle couldn't help but chuckle.

"I thought my signature thing was my rose token?" Belle reminded him, touching her fingers lightly to the rose pinned to her shirt, hidden from view just behind her jacket. His eyes wide, Henry looked at the small token and reached out his fingers with intrigue, hesitating a few inches from the flower.

"Can I touch it?" He asked and Belle smiled, nodding her permission. With light fingers, he examined the piece, marveling at the quality of the piece of jewelry and remarking at how it was cool to the touch. When he was done, he shook his head and sighed.

"Okay, so maybe the rose is your signature thing. But fire's a pretty close second." He grinned and Belle chuckled alongside him.

"Come on, let's go find some lunch." She remarked and together, they went off in search of more of the tubers Henry had found earlier in the day. And despite the weight she felt at the idea of carrying out Henry's plan, Belle felt lighthearted in the company of her little ally, who seemed as intrigued by roses as she was.

Well, maybe not _quite_ as intrigued.

\-----

Gold had watched the little lad from eleven scamper about with Belle and at first, he had sworn under his breath because yes, of course Belle would choose the smallest, most defenseless creature to be her ally in these games. Not a career, not her district partner, not even some physically inferior but overall likable tribute her age. No, she had gone and chosen the twelve year old whose greatest accomplishment in these games was surviving beyond the first day.

The boy had about a snowball’s chance in hell of winning. So, naturally Belle took him under her wing.

It was a miracle _she_ had survived the first day. But after a few days (three exactly) of the pair of them working as a rather efficient team, he grudgingly admitted that Belle might have been a better judge of character than he in this instance.

Then, the flames had sprung up.

It had happened not long after their conversation about Belle's token and about how roses and flames were her 'signature things'. He'd gritted his teeth through the entire conversation, envisioning the wrath and rage of Cora as she and the rest of the districts listened to the conversation.

Gold knew that Henry and Belle meant their talk innocently enough. But he also knew that Cora was looking at this as Belle's way of inspiring rebellion, giving the revolution symbols to identify with and rally around.

So it was not surprise that he felt when the flames appeared seemingly out of thing air. No, not surprise, for he had felt resigned to the knowledge that such an action would surely follow Belle and Henry's chat. What he felt when he saw the flames spring up was panic; one moment, Gold had been watching Belle and Henry as the boy dug up some tubers and Belle stood watch. The next moment, Gold had been horrified as the orange tongues had suddenly sprung up, brought to life by the Gamemakers themselves. Belle noticed them first and she had grabbed Henry’s hand and holding tight to him, whirled to sprint away.

Gold had leaned forward, his grip on the arms of his chair leaving him white knuckled and strained, sweat beading down his face and his heart racing. Not for the first time in these games, his little rose was in danger and there was a very real possibility that she would not survive. President Cora didn't want her to survive; if they had harbored any doubts over that, they had been vanquished the moment the Gamemakers had deliberately begun a wildfire practically at Belle's feet.

President Cora, it seemed, was desperate to be rid of the Rose Girl and all the entanglements of hope that she represented to the people of the districts. Clearly she had survived too long for Cora's liking.

Even as he watched her run, Gold felt his own legs twitch with the urge to run to her and lead her to safety. But he could no more take her hand and show her the way then he could spare her the horror of these games. All he could do was advocate for her amongst the sponsors, provide what little he could through them, and hope that it was enough.

They seemed to run for an eternity and the entire time he found himself swearing under his breath, wondering how long the Gamemakers would terrorize them. Would they relent before one or both of the terrified children were dead? Would he have to watch as Belle became her own personal funeral pyre? Or would the Gamemakers relent after she'd been maimed, leaving her to suffer and wish for death? He knew that whatever the case, Cora would consider it poetic justice to destroy Belle by the very thing that Henry had just a short while ago declared to be her 'signature thing'.

Gold could practically taste Cora's sense of malicious glee from here.

Continuing watch despite his dread, Gold saw as the tongues lapped too close to the boy, whose speed had begun to flag; he saw the trails weave up his pant leg as the fire consumed him and Henry screamed and fell to the ground. But his focus, as always, was on Belle. The girl turned at Henry’s scream and instantly grabbed his arms and tried to drag him to safety while the boy beat at his legs to try and stifle the flames.

He failed.

The flames roared higher around the pair when Henry’s screams increased in volume and Belle ripped off her own jacket to beat the fire off of him. As she tried though, the fire licked at her hands and up her arms with artificially created intensity, burning through her sleeves and searing tender flesh. Belle’s own scream of agony made Gold feel as though he were about to retch and all the while the flames raged on. He could see Belle fall into the flames as the pain grew too intense for her, only to stand back up on unsteady legs, still trying to drag Henry to safety. And just when he was certain she was lost, he saw the two make eye contact through the curtain of fire and Henry, ever the brave little lad, gave Belle a firm shove.

They were on the verge of a slope and the force of Henry's push was enough to knock Belle off her feet and send her tumbling down the hill, beyond where the flames seemed to have died out. Gold felt his breathing hitch as she came to a halt and remained motionless. A single canon shot sounded, booming over the roaring flames. As it sounded, the flames flickered and slowly went out, leaving Gold to wonder for whom the canon had tolled until he could pull up the screen that showed him Belle's and Jefferson's vitals, exhaling in relief when he saw that her heart was still beating.

Henry's heart, however, had beat its last.

It was some span of time before she came to; minutes or hours, he’d lost count by the time she finally stirred. When she stood, it was with a quiet yelp of pain and as the cameras swung ‘round to get a better view, Gold and all the rest of Storybrooke could see why.

Her arms were bloody and mangled where the flames had eaten away at her skin. The pain, he could only imagine, was excruciating. The severity of such burns would have been of concern even with the medical care in the Districts, let alone out in the midst of the games. And with less than a dozen tributes remaining? Gold knew the cost of anything to help his little rose would be extravagant in the extreme.

But the moment she got to her unsteady feet and began to stumble up the hill, Gold was on his feet and striding for one of the viewing courts where he knew he could find Midas and the other sponsors. Now, more than ever, he needed to work his magic and strike a deal with them, to get the gold out of their pockets and into the Capitol’s hands to pay for some cure for his little Belle’s battle wounds.

\-----

Belle could honestly say she’d never felt the urge to take a person’s life.

Until now.

As she stared at the spot where Henry’s body had disappeared, she felt her whole body tremble and her hands would have curled into fists, had she been able to move her fingers more than a fraction of an inch. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks and she knew they had nothing to do with the burns that now covered her arms.

 _Henry was dead_.

She had promised to protect him from the Careers and she had done so. She had provided food and warmth and companionship to him and he to her. But Belle had forgotten to promise one thing. To protect him from the _games_.

And now she had lost him. She had been forced to watch as the flames ate him up and she was left, unable to save him. It had all happened so fast but one would never have known it by looking around. The fire had left no trace on any of the plants, nor smoke in the air. With Henry’s body having been taken away, the only sign that a fire had ever been present was the charred remains of the jacket she’d used to try and smother the flames and the black charred outline of where his body had been.

Belle didn’t know how long she sat, her raw knees digging into the gravelly ground and the remains of her jacket clutched to her breast. It wasn't until something landed on her tender, burned flesh that she realized tears were falling from her face. As she went to brush them away though, she could feel blood smearing across her face and it was then that she truly looked at her hands and arms.

Bloodied and burned, her skin was blistered and angry, and in some places it was ashen. All of it, however, ached, but the pain of her burns paled compared to the pain in her heart. She cried until she ran out of tears and then she sobbed until she wretched. The sun was going down when she finally stood, lightheaded and yet, heavy with the pain of Henry’s death still so fresh.

Her strides were uneven and she stumbled, her eyes so tired that she was nearly blind as she fumbled along, making entirely more noise than was safe but too physically and emotionally hurt to care. Death, she thought, might be a welcome reprieve from a life spent with the memory of that angelic little boy’s death in her head.

The climb up to the caves had been almost unbearable, every slip sending intense bursts of pain through her burned limbs. She'd thrown up, and her breathing felt labored from all the smoke she had inhaled.

When she finally reached the cave, she curled up beside Henry’s bag and carefully, fished out the green cloak that they had used as a blanket. It still smelled faintly of the boy and so, clutching it to her, she curled up on the cave floor and let the dry sobbing lull her into an exhausted sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

She woke late the next morning and even then, she awoke only when she rolled over in her sleep, pinning her burned arms beneath her. The pain was excruciating and when she awoke, it was to the sound of her own screams reverberating off the cave walls. Cold panic clawed through her as she wondered how long she'd been screaming and how audible it had been to the other tributes.

Was this it? Was she going to die like a wounded animal, trapped and afraid?

She half crouched, quivering with a combination of pain and fear, in the mouth of the cave, watching the landscape below for signs of the other tributes, both terrified at the idea of being found, and yet, almost accepting of such a fate.

She wasn't going to survive – that much was plain. Her wounds were severe. Henry was dead. She was alone, she had no food, minimal water.

"I bet you're loving this." She whispered, her voice rough as it scraped out of her raw throat, her mind on President Cora. The woman must be glorying in Belle's pain. Some symbol of hope she was – burned and broken and practically begging for death. If she had ever been a symbol of rebellion, of possibility, that image must surely be shattered now.

"I'm sorry." She choked out, wanting to brush away her own tears but afraid of the pain that doing so would cause. Her fingers were charred and blistered almost beyond use. For all her suffering though, she truly was sorry. Even if she had never intended to incite rebellion, the idea of failing people so desperately in need of hope left her feeling heartsick. Just as she had failed Henry, her failure in this arena would be her failure of the people of Storybrooke.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

After watching the surrounding area for the better part of an hour, Belle cautiously left the cave, descending the rocky path and moving towards the stream. With halting, awkward motions, she tried to replicate the poultice that Henry had made for her wounds the day he had found her. It had helped her minor burns then – her only hope was that it would also help her much more severe burns now.

It took her nearly two hours to do the work that might have taken her half an hour had she had full function of her arms and hands. As it was, by the time she brought her supplies back to the cave, her wounds were cracked open and bloodied anew and her head felt light from the stress and pain of it all.

She replicated Henry's poultice as best she could, staring at the finished product and sighing heavily. It didn't look exactly the same as Henry's but she hoped it was close enough to do the job.

Biting down on a stick, Belle took a deep breath to steel her nerves and without further ado, poured water over her wounds, doing her best to swallow the scream of pain her actions elicited. She applied the poultice next, wincing as tears rolled down her cheeks. When all was said and done, she was coated in the thick paste up past her elbows but if it offered any relief, she didn't truly feel it.

Her stomach rumbled loudly and not for the first time that morning, Belle had to close her eyes and breathe deeply to try and quell the hunger gnawing at her gut. Even if she was by no means equipped to deal with her burns, she could at least deal with her hunger. She'd had to overcome hunger for years when money had been tight in the French household; this at least, was something she was both practiced at and accomplished at overcoming.

Not that it would do her much good in the long run.

\-----

Ruby walked into the tower, massaging her temples as she tried to clear the tension headache growing in her neck and head. Since having watched Belle nearly die in the fire, she'd been unable to shake the concern and fear pressing against her from every angle.

But as the young stylist entered the District Seven tower, her concerns for Belle momentarily melted away to a muted whisper as the sound of shattering glass met her ears.

Running further into the space, she came into view of Gold, swinging his cane wildly into every breakable item he could come into contact with. Even as she watched, the glass table they took their meals at fell under Gold's fire. With a well aimed swing of the heavy, sturdy cane, the table shattered loudly, sending glass shards and porcelain pieces flying.

"GOLD!" She yelled, rushing forward and grabbing the cane before he could bring it down in another destructive arc. As she stared at him, she realized he looked positively manic; his teeth were bared, the whites of his eyes apparent as his eyes rolled wildly, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

"HE WON'T DO IT!" Gold screamed, wrenching his cane out of her grasp and throwing it at the television screen on the wall, which cracked as the cane came into contact with it. Staring at him uncomprehendingly, Ruby tried to fill in the gaps.

"Who won't do what?!"

"MIDAS!" Gold bellowed, referring to the richest man in the Capitol, known for pouring his gold into the games, especially in ways that could be game-altering and unpredictable. Midas liked to fancy himself a Gamemaker of sorts, often buying ludicrously expensive items when the games reached the final few tributes. Such lavish purchases could easily swing the tide of the games in favor of a new tribute.

"Midas won't…. he won't buy anything for Belle?" She asked and Gold gave a sharp bob of his head, his teeth still bared.

"The fool won't buy anything to help with her wounds. He said she's not a compelling tribute to win the games, she's only compelling with Jefferson at her side and they both clearly can't win, so he won't shell out the money to heal her." Gold ranted, burying his hands into his hair as he tried to come to terms with his failure.

He had failed Belle. She desperately needed him to come through for her, to help her survive Cora's underhanded tactics at getting her killed and instead, he'd come up short. She was going to die because he hadn't been able to convince that shitstain of a man to part with some of his hoard of gold.

"There has to be someone else we can ask-" Ruby began, only to be cut short by a vehement shake of the head by Gold.

"No one else can begin to afford the price of a cure for her. Not this late in the games." Gold sighed heavily, feeling tears welling up in his eyes.

Ruby was silent as she watched the man before her break, keenly aware that he was losing much more than just a tribute in Belle. Running a hand through her hair, the brunette thought frantically, grasping at an idea that was formulating on the fringes of her mind.

They couldn't get a cure. So maybe they didn't try to heal Belle. Maybe they just tried…

"Gold!" Ruby exclaimed, grabbing his forearm and wrenching him out of his pity party as she drug him to his room so they wouldn't be overheard, her eyes bright with excitement. "What if we don't get her a cure? What if we just get her something to keep her going?"

"Explain." He grimaced and Ruby rolled up the sleeves of her black and maroon striped top. "We don't have to heal her; if she wins, they'll heal her then. All we have to do is give her a way to survive that long."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning _sleeves_ , Gold. _Sleeves_!" Ruby whispered excitedly, tapping her exposed forearms enthusiastically. "If we get Belle synthi-skin gloves, it would be as good as a temporary cure." Ruby grinned, only for Gold to stare at her blankly.

"What the fuck are synthi-skin gloves?" He asked her and Ruby huffed softly, having forgotten in her excitement that a man like Gold would certainly not be up on Capitol couture.

"It's a stupid new Capitol fashion; synthi-skin is essentially a microfiber clothing article that binds so tightly to the wearer it is like skin. So people can get sleeves or leggings or full body synthi-skins in ridiculous and outrageous patterns and colors but they aren't permanent like tattoos. In order to bind to the wearer tightly enough to actually look like skin, it has an anesthetizing property to it. Essentially it numbs the nerve endings so you don't feel pain when you're wearing it." Ruby explained and as she finished, she saw Gold's face brighten.

"So if Belle wore this crap, it would numb her pain-"

"-and allow her to use her hands and arms normally. Yes." Ruby finished with a nod, watching as Gold's eyes widened in relief and hope.

"And the gamemakers are unlikely to have those as very high priced right now because what good does a fashion accessory like that do?" Gold asked, his lips pulling into a grin.

"Seemingly, not much." Ruby nodded.

"We can get someone to donate that easily." Gold breathed, putting a hand on either side of Ruby's face and beaming. "You're a hell of a lot more useful than I anticipated, Lucas."

"So are you, Gold."

\-----

Belle was reclined against the cave wall, her eyes half shut in fatigue and hunger when she heard the soft tinkling sound. She was so exhausted, she almost ignored the sound but distantly, her brain reminded her that she'd heard the noise before.

She'd heard it when Gold had sent her a parachute bearing a donation, before she set the careers camp on fire.

Stirring slowly, she got to her feet at a snail's pace and walked to the entrance of the cave, her eyes widening as she saw the parachute perched atop the rocks. With shaking hands, she grabbed the box, wincing at the pain that using her fingers induced.

Opening the small box, she lifted the small card from Gold so she could read it in the light at the mouth of the cave.

"Put these on and keep them on. We aren't done yet, Rose Girl."

Frowning in confusion, Belle dug into the box and pulled out a pair of flesh colored gloves.

 _Seriously_? That was his solution? To cover up her burns? Even if the gloves protected her from infection, she wouldn't be able to move her hands and arms without excruciating pain. Not exactly conducive to fighting for one's survival.

But she trusted Gold. There had to be a reason for this gift.

She pulled the gloves on with some struggle, gasping at how tightly they fit to her. But once she had the first one on, Belle realized she didn't feel the pain in her left arm and hand anymore. Staring in awe, Belle realized she didn't feel _anything_ on that side. Frightened for a moment, she tried to move her fingers and to her great relief, they answered her bidding, curling obediently.

And without pain.

She might not be able to feel much with her hands (which was mildly terrifying, because she also wouldn't feel vibrations in the ground or subtle shift of weight when using her bow, which would not aid her accuracy) but she also didn't feel her pain.

And that was a greater gift than she could explain.

Pulling on the second glove hurriedly, Belle flopped back onto the cave floor in relief, the sudden absence of pain where before she'd been overwhelmed by it, was a welcome reprieve.

A sudden, loud growl from her stomach had her quickly getting to her feet though, gathering up her things to leave. There was no telling how long the gloves would numb her pain – and if this was only temporary, she wasn't about to waste that time sleeping or marveling in how great it felt to be pain free. She was going to go find food.

And hopefully there would be nothing more exciting to her foraging than that.

Hefting her bag over her shoulder, Belle scampered out of the cave, flexing her hands painlessly as she went.

\-----

His scarred and worn hands curled slowly around the handle of his (newly scratched and dinged) cane as he leaned forward in his seat, his eyes trained to the giant screen projected overhead. Through Belle, he was as good as back in the arena and it was taking its toll. He'd passed up meals more often than he should have, overcome with guilt at the idea of eating while she starved. But now, watching her move without pain thanks to Ruby's ingenious suggestion, he felt like celebrating but refrained so that he could devote the entirety of his attention to watching her as she set about foraging for food.

To his relief, she was able to find some of the edible wildflowers Henry had shown her and she ate one for every one that she collected into her bag. Though hardly the most nourishing of meals, he knew that it would quickly revitalize her to have _something_ in her stomach again.

She found some berries in her search and she ate and collected these too. Though she saw a small bird, she'd missed with her arrow when she'd shot at it, no doubt because of the lack of sensation in her hands due to the gloves.

It was a definite concern, he knew. But if she could compensate for the numbness in her hands moderately enough, he was hoping she would still be able to defend herself from the other tributes.

As he watched her move deeper into the forest though, his skin prickled uncomfortably, his hair raised in alarm though why, he wasn't yet certain. While his heartbeat increased twofold and the tension of waiting sent his nerves to fraying, he saw Belle begin to tense too. On the screen, he could see Belle's shoulders tense as she fell still, kneeling to the ground slowly. Looking around her slowly, she pressed one hand to the ground, trying to feet for vibrations while the rest of her body was wound like a coiled spring, taut and waiting to release all of her energy at the first sign of danger.

She moved so quickly, he wasn't even aware of what was happening, unable to hear the soft whistle of an airborne projectile until she had dodged the unknown weapon with a roll and was suddenly on her feet with an arrow fitted to her bow. Later, he would marvel at the fluidity of her movements and the ease and practiced grace of her as she drew her weapon. But in that moment he had room only for concern for her safety. Behind her, right in the spot where she'd been kneeling, a spear was lodged in the ground. The woods were still for all of a few, terse moments, and then, from the hill before her a figure exploded out, a curved metal blade in hand as the girl from District Two - Mulan - swept into view.

"Shoot her." Gold hissed from his position in front of the screen in the Capitol, his fingers tightening their grip on his cane. "SHOOT." He swore, watching as Belle hesitated, her fingers trembling on the bow. She started to lower her weapon and in so doing, the camera got a clear shot of her face and he could see the tears in her eyes as she looked skyward and he knew in that moment that she wasn't going to shoot. He knew that instead of taking a life, she was taking one last, deep breath of the smell of the forest, the smell that reminded her so much of home.

He wanted to turn away, to close his eyes and save himself the horror of watching his little rose be hacked apart – such a sight, he knew, would haunt him for the rest of his miserable life. But Belle did not deserve to be alone in her final moments and if he could not be there to save her then he would at least stay with her while she took her last breath.

Instead, however, her attacker was suddenly dropped to the ground when a rather sizeable rock connected with her head.

Gold blinked in shock, watching as Belle slowly brought her eyes back down to earth, looking around in confusion as she took in the sight of her felled attacker, still breathing but very much out cold. In answer, a soft, birdlike whistle sounded from above and Gold felt his eyes follow Belle's to search the forest he wasn't even in. The camera panned up, revealing the wisp of a girl from District Eight. She put a hand out before her in a nonthreatening manner, keeping her eyes on Belle as she inched towards the fallen tribute's prostrate form.

From her shoulders, she shrugged off a dark green backpack and rifled through it for a moment and then carefully withdrew a small, capped canister. She undid the top with cautious fingers before taking a small, sharpened piece of wood and dipping it inside. Then, with practiced ease, she rolled the tribute over and with a steadying inhale, plunged the stick into the girl's stomach.

\-----

As Belle watched, the girl rolled Mulan back over hurriedly and recapped the canister, before rubbing her hands in the dirt. As she finished packing away her things, Belle finally seemed to find her voice, swallowing thickly.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" The girl from District Eight responded back brightly, bringing her blue eyes to rest on Belle as she brushed a strand of long, light brown hair from her face. "As far as this is concerned, you didn't see anything, you hear? I don't have the stomach to gut them the way they would gut me if they caught me. But I also don't need them knowing that there's poison in the arena. So I stage a wound to make it look like they impaled themselves in the fall. By the time they come to, the nightshade will have robbed them of almost all their strength but anyone else will just see the stab wound. If you don't give them a reason to think poison, they won't." She shrugged simply, slipping her backpack back on before she began to head in the direction opposite of where Mulan had appeared.

"Why are you telling me this? …We're competitors. I could be a threat." Belle called and the girl paused, half turning back to glance at her with a soft smile.

"Girl who can't bring herself to fire an arrow when her life is in danger? …I don't see much of a threat there."

"It was a momentary lapse-" Belle began to argue, only to be interrupted.

"You gave up. That was the games messing with your head. That's more than a lapse; that's a self fulfilling prophecy if you don't get it under control and soon."

"So then why let me go? I'm weak and ripe for the picking." Belle declared breathlessly, her chest heaving with gasping breaths. "So end it!"

"You want me to take on the guilt of ending another life, just so you can have some peace? I'm not robbing myself of emotional stability just to give you back yours." The girl returned. "I don't need that on my conscious or more blood on my hands. You wanna be done? _Be done_. But it won't be at my hands." She intoned, shouldering her bag anew and beginning the trek over the hill and out of sight.

Belle was frozen, the other girl's words having hit her with the same impact as a punch to the gut.

The girl was right; it hadn't been a momentary lapse - she hadn't fired her arrow when she'd had a clear shot, even though she'd been in immediate danger. She'd failed to listen to the most basic of instincts to ensure her own survival.

Belle really had meant to shoot but when she'd faced her foe, all she'd been able to see was Henry, sweet Henry, and not the face of her would-be killer. Belle had been expecting danger from the other tributes in these games; she hadn't expected danger from her own mind playing tricks on her.

She needed to clear her head.

But first, she needed to get out of here; there could be other tributes nearby who had heard the commotion and the last thing she needed was to run into them before she had a chance to get her head on straight again.

"Get it together, Belle." She breathed to herself.

**Author's Note:**

> This is obviously inspired by Suzanne Collins' series "The Hunger Games" so credit where credit is due! A big thanks to my loves Marchie & Ched who have been encouraging me through this (as always!). I love you darlings!


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